


Home

by TheDemonLedger



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Car Accident, Love, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Reunions, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-14 15:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19276423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDemonLedger/pseuds/TheDemonLedger
Summary: Katniss hadn’t seen Peeta since their bad break-up two years ago. His accident may have changed him, but it didn’t change his feelings for her. Does she dare go home?Story inspired by the song "Home" by Daughter.Part of the Summer of Writing - an 80 day writing challenge to write every day for the entire summer.





	1. Drunk Again

**Author's Note:**

> All rights reserved to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins, Lionsgate, Scholastic Press). All ideas are my own. Some content may not be appropriate for those under the age of 16. Tags as noted. Also, each chapter title is a different line from the song "Home" so all rights reserved to Daughter, Ian Grimble, and Glassnote Records.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi -   
> So I just wanted to post an edit to this chapter. I was in the middle of writing the newest chapter (which should go up today) when I realized I CHANGED POV'S! It's been so long since I've done that - I think it's because I was writing the second chapter after cleaning all day, so it was two in the morning and I was totally wiped, and just spaced on the fact that the story was supposed to be in third person. Thanks so much for not saying anything. I feel so dumb. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is now in the correct tense and point of view - first person from here on out. Ugh! So dumb.

The party is in full swing when we arrive; heavy music beats a steady rhythm through Cato Clark’s house, loud enough that I can feel the pounding of it in my sternum and eardrums and knees. Already sweating from the heat of the room, I unzip my windbreaker with my free hand; in the other, I clutch Gale’s tightly, afraid of being swept away by the crowd, concerned of who I might see here. There is a distinct possibility, I know, of Peeta Mellark, my ex-boyfriend, being here. Cato and he had never really been close, but cordial enough coworkers not to bicker. My heart rate picks up at the thought, but I shake it off like a shiver. Gale looks down at me, a concerned smile on his face, then holds up our joined hands. 

“Are you ever going to let go of my hand?” he yells over the thrumming music. I shake my head and stick out my tongue, then release him.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I reply. “Do you want anything?”

“Water!” he shouts, and I can barely hear him as we pass a speaker. “I gotta get you home tonight, remember?” I shrug.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world for you to have a beer. It’s only eight!” Gale wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, but follows me to the furthest corner of the backed living room, where I can see a folding table ladened down with drinks. It stands unattended. Above us on the stairs, there comes a shout of welcome and I look up to see Cato’s stubborn face and weak jawline. He grins at me and I smile politely, waving. 

“Didn’t think you’d come, Kat,” he yells, running down the stairs. It took him another moment to push through the crowd to us, in which I start to pour myself a strong gin and tonic and glance at Gale with an apology in my eyes. ‘Kat’ was something Cato picked up from Peeta, in the days where they worked together, before his car accident. 

“I said I would,” I reply when Cato finally catches up to us. He reached out to hug me, which I try to return politely, feeling flustered. My face burns hot from the nickname and the feeling of his hand on my lower back. I pull away sooner than he does, and he clears his throat, obviously embarrassed. He extends one hand to Gale. 

“Cato Clark,” says Cato, introducing himself with a pompous tone. “I’m sure Katniss has told you about me.” Gale glances at me, a smirk playing on the edge of his lips, and then away again as he shook Cato’s hand. 

“Uh, I can’t say she has. How do you two know each other?” asked Gale. I scratch the back of my head awkwardly and turn on the spot, looking around the crowded room. Party goers dance and talk, some leaning in close to hear, while others still yell over the pounding bassline. Smoke drifts overhead from a couch in the opposite corner, where I see Clove and a long-legged blonde sharing a long, thin cigarette, their heads pulled together as they each give the room a sullen glare. I roll my eyes and move on - knowing Clove it could only be the bitterest of gossip - towards the door to the outside, where I see a familiar tall, sandy-blond haired man speaking softly to a short, amused-looking red head. I tug at Gale’s sleeve hard, and begin pulling him across the room. 

“Sorry, Cato, but I see our friends. I’ll see you around, I’m sure!” I yell back over my shoulder at him, marching Gale behind me. I’m overheating from wearing so many layers, but glad to see the huge backyard Cato gleaned from borrowing his parents house for the weekend. There is something remarkable about being around the rich, I realize, having never been rich myself, and look out to the twinkling lights and people speaking in quiet undertones. I shove a finger hard into Finnick’s arm when I reach him, and reach out to hug a surprised but excited Annie. 

“Hey!” Finnick yells, pulling me into a tight embrace before roughing a hand over my hair. “You made it, we didn’t think you’d come.” I glare at him and shake my head, feigning annoyance. 

“Am I really that much of a homebody?” I ask, chuckling. 

“I was surprised,” Gale admits. I turn my poking finger on him and press it into his side; he laughs and bats my hand away. 

“Let’s go find a spot on the lawn,” I suggest, gesturing with my drink. The other three agree, and we make our way onto the deck. Finnick is still murmuring to Annie when I find a spot, sheltered by the trees but with a good view of the blessedly clear sky. It was an unusually cold July in Flagstaff. I zip my windbreaker back up over my sisters UMass sweatshirt and check my watch, feeling the early chill begin to set in. Fourth of July was never my favorite holiday - the loud, banging noises made me think too much of my father and the colorful fireworks we would set off before his death. Tonight, however, I plan to lay back and watch, unadulterated contentment surging through me for the first time in years. I sip my drink lazily, watching Gale talk to Finnick about some sort of new fishing equipment he was selling. All the while, I can feel Annie’s eyes on me, and turn to look at her. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, moving closer to me. I feel a smile rush onto my face at her concerned frown, and try to reassure her without speaking. I’d made a concerted effort for the last two years to stay home and away from people; I was paying for it now with the surprise and anxious glances “How are you?” she asks, “I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“I’m good,” I reply truthfully, thinking about the pleasant feeling settling in my stomach, “just busy.” Annie nods and takes a small sip of her own drink. . 

“I’ve been worried about you.” Annie pauses and eyes me over. “I mean, I’ve been worried about you since… you know.” Annie inclines her head meaningfully, and I nod before I take another long draft from my cup, then shrug her statement off. 

“Yeah, well,” I gesture towards Gale. “If it wasn’t for Gale, I don’t know what I would have done.” He grins back at me and shoots both of us a sarcastic thumbs up, which I return with enthusiasm. Annie laughs and settles back on her elbows, moving to tuck her feet under Finnick’s legs. “He really got me through a lot.” 

“That’s sort of how I feel about Finnick,” replies Annie. “But romantic, obviously.” 

“Oh, yeah,” I snort, then shake my head and wrinkle my nose pointedly. 

“Been there, done that,” Gale interjects before I can say anything, “never going back.” I poke him hard again with my free hand, and drain the last of my cup. “You suck at relationships, Katniss,” Gale whines, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Speak for yourself,” I reply. I turn back to Annie. “Have you, uh, seen him lately?” 

Annie nods and takes another, longer sip from her own plastic cup before answering. “He seems good. Back at work, therapy,” Annie pauses, “asked about you.” I swallow and stand quickly. 

“I need a refill,” I say to the group. “Anyone else?” Annie nods and offers me her cup, replacing her concerned look with a pleading grin. 

“Just cranberry juice and vodka,” Annie says. Finnick shakes his head. 

“My sweet little light-weight,” he murmurs at her. “None for me.” He held up a small box of sugar cubes. “Gots-ta drive.” 

I nod, then nudge Gale with the toe of my shoe. “Change your mind yet, Hawthorne?” 

“Nah,” Gale says, squinting up at me. “You’ve only got two hands anyway, Everdeen.” 

“Yeah, alright,” I reply as I walked away. If it was possible, the house is busier, and more crowded now than it had been when I first got there. How many people did Cato know - how was it possible to know this many people in the first place? I’m at a loss for words as I stumble through the crowd, jostled by the movements of others to whatever destination they were choosing to be at for the fireworks. Cato is still standing by the drink table, talking up the pretty blonde I saw sitting with Clove earlier. She’s wearing a dress bedecked with the American flag and heels high enough to snap an ankle if she stepped wrong. I sidle around them both and let my dark hair float in front of my face in a vain attempt to keep Cato from recognizing me. 

“Katniss!” his high, excited voice reverberates through me, and I grimace. _How is he already drunk?_ I think to myself, and steel myself for what would undoubtedly be an unpleasantly drunk conversation. 

“Hey again, Cato,” I reply, sweeping my hair back over my shoulder and smiling awkwardly

“I just saw someone that made me think of you,” says the tall blonde, looking down at me. I’m sure I recognize her from somewhere, but I can’t place where. I finish filling Annie’s cup and nod slowly with wide, sarcastic eyes.

“Well, when you think of it, I’ll be outside,” I say, slowly backing away. I turn and almost slammed right into someone, nearly spilling both drinks. “Jesus,” I mutter, more to myself than the other person, and stumble slightly as a hand comes to grip my arm, steadying me. “Sorry,” I say before I look up. The blue eyes that stare down at me are shockingly familiar and sent my heart dropping out my vagina and into my feet. 

“Hi, Katniss,” says Peeta, releasing me at the shocked look I can feel form on my face. I can’t speak. In fact, my throat feels like it’s closing up. I turn quickly on my heel and walk back out the door, into the backyard. My cup is empty by the time I get back to the spot on the lawn where my group is sitting, and my heart is racing a million miles an hour. I take a deep breath and smile at them, then hand Annie her drink and look down into my own empty cup, feigning surprise. 

“I forgot to fill my cup,” I lie. 

“Get distracted, Catnip?” asks Gale, who laid back in my absence, staring up at the quickly darkening sky. “Cato must be _really_ interesting tonight.” 

“Shut up,” I snap, a little too harshly. I wrinkle my nose at the mistake. Gale just looks up at me and glares. 

“Katniss?” asks Finnick, reaching out to touch my leg. “Is something the matter?” 

“Nope!” I reply quickly. “I’m good. Be right back!” I hurry back up the stairs and peek in through the deck door. No sign of Peeta anywhere. I tiptoe in, feeling the gin already going to my head. The party, the raucous music, and the overwhelming idea of Peeta’s presence culminate inside of me like a fire. I feel hot, and know my windbreaker isn’t helping as I am once again buffeted my whole way to the drink table by an alcohol-enriched crowd. 

“That was fast,” says a voice from behind me. I freeze, feeling anxiety build in my chest. Peeta steps to the side and leans around ne. “I know it’s been a while,” he says, as if we hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. His eyes looked sad as he adjusts his stance to stand in front of me. 

“I’m just trying to get a drink,” I reply cooly. “Just because we’re at the same party doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other.” 

“Can I just say one thing?” he asks gently. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will, but let me just say this one thing.” 

My defenses instantly go up. I’d been burned by Peeta before, and badly, and wasn’t willing to give him an inch, fearing he would take a mile. _That isn’t like him_ , I think, but the fear still lays deep and stagnant in my chest. 

“What is it?” I reply, crossing my arms over my body, as if hugging myself. He watches me for a moment, probably waiting to see if I was going to bolt again, then lowers his head. 

“I’m sorry, Katniss,” is all he says. For a moment I am speechless, waiting for him to continue. He raises his eyes to look down at me, a frown creasing his brow. I give him a once over. He looks fine; the two years we've been apart has changed him: he looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes. I realize he’s leaning heavily on a cane rather than in a wheelchair, something I’d overlooked on our previous interaction. I nod and give him a curt smile

“Okay,” I reply, then move past him towards the drink table. He follows me, trying to see my expression, which I try to make blank, though my insides are seething with anger.

“That’s all?” he asks, sounding surprised. I nod again. 

“Yep,” is all I say. I pour a healthy - my liver disagrees - amount of vodka into my plastic cup and look around for a bottle of cranberry juice. I set my cup down when I realize the one I’d used for Annie’s drink was empty, and my hands shake as I try to open a new bottle of cranberry cocktail. Peeta reaches across me for a bottle of bourbon. His hands are shaking too, I notice, and try to push down the wave of guilt that swings up inside me. 

“Okay,” he says, voice devoid of emotion. 

“What do you want me to say, Peeta?” I ask through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t know,” he replies sharply. “Something more than okay.” 

“I can’t.” I turn towards him. He doesn’t look at me, just scans the table for soda. “I can’t,” I repeat, quieter. 

Back outside, my composure breaks and an errant tear slips down my cheek, which I wipe away with frustration. I don’t have the patience for this, and especially not tonight, when my hackles are already raised. Annie watches me cross the lawn, and even from a distance I can see the concerned look plastered to her sweet face. She doesn’t say anything until I sit down hard in the grass beside Gale, who is still splayed out, gazing up at the sky. A few stars have made an appearance in the dark sky. 

“Are you okay?” asks Annie in an undertone. I chew the inside of my lip, thinking hard about what I want to say. 

“No,” I reply after a moment. “But I don’t want to talk about it.” Finnick rolls his head to look at me, and seems on the brink of speech when Annie cuts him off. 

“Okay,” she says brightly. She changes the subject, asking me idly about the difference between work on the ranch and at the community center and if I’d been on another date recently, but my head is foggy and I can’t think straight. At some point I lay down next to Gale and look at him, scanning his closed eyes and stubbled jawline. His lips pulled up at the edges. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, turning his head to face me. 

“Peeta’s here,” I mouth, so quietly I know Annie and Finnick won’t be able to hear me. His face softens as he looks at me. At first I don’t recognize the look in his eyes, but register after a moment that it’s pity. 

He pities me. 

_Great,_ I think. I sit back up, looking towards the deck, where I can see Peeta now leaning against the railing, talking to a short, dark-haired woman with a smile on his face. My heart sinks as he looks at me, his face an unreadable mask, but he laughs at something the woman says and turns to leave without looking back. A bang overhead makes me jump; the fireworks have started and all I want to do is go home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen next? Does Katniss talk to Peeta? What happened between them?
> 
> I'm gonna try to post the next chapter of this on Monday. I have a bunch of it written but it's so old I'm not sure that I'll use any of it.


	2. Causing Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years ago, Katniss and Peeta broke up. This is why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know I said I'd post this on Monday, but I got an idea in my head that I just couldn't shake. I stayed up way too late writing this and I couldn't not share it with you. Anyway, this chapter has a trigger warning. 
> 
> Trigger warning: There's talk of a car accident, amputation, hospitals, and use of demeaning, non-PC words in this chapter. Please be advised and take care of yourself. If you need a rundown, go ahead and message me on tumblr (link in my bio).  
> Enjoy!

#Two and a half years ago#

The hospital, a stark white affair, is quiet in these early mornings when I pace the halls. We’d been here for three days, Peeta and I, and I was starting to get antsy. When would they have an answer? When would he wake up? My ribs ached from crying and my stomach hurt from not eating and I couldn’t see straight for exhaustion, but there was something else - something less assured - that was wrong. At first, I think it’s grief, for not knowing the outcome and seeing him, pale and wan and so, so unconscious. After some time, I realize it’s guilt. That hits me like a ton of bricks. The hospital floor is cold beneath my hands, and even though orderlies look at me with confusion or pity, I sit and wait outside his room, unable to re-enter. My fear of him waking up to blame me is as bad as my fear of him not waking up at all.

 

 

Gale comes. He stays for a long time. Sometimes he talks. He tells me about Prim and her classes. He tells me about the customer at his job who called him stupid. One day, he tells me that Finnick was going to propose to Annie, but wants to wait now, until at least Peeta is out of the hospital.

No one knows when that will be.

And when Gale has to go to work, the fear creeps back in on top of the guilt and misgivings.

 

 

Finally, I go home. More on orders from Peeta’s doctor than anything else, after I faint from exhaustion when I stand from a chair in Peeta’s room. Our apartment feels empty without his singing and the warm smells from the kitchen. I want to bake something, just to take my mind off of his absence, but the oven is daunting and the metal bowls ring too loud on the counter, and I abandon the attempt.

 

 

Sometimes I dream that he’s dead. When I wake up, I cry, because some small part of me wishes he was - it would be better than whatever stasis he’s in now.

 

 

At the end of the week, the hospital calls me. They ask me to provide the name of his next living relative, and his contact information. That there are some decisions that need to be made that I, legally, can’t sign for. I tell them I’ll call back.

Rye answers after the first ring.

“Katniss?” he sounds as desperate as I feel. “Is there any news?”

“Will you be Peeta’s next of kin?” I ask. I’m trying to hold tears back, but my throat is aching and I can feel the shake in my hands. Rye makes a choked sound.

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he-”

“I don’t know, Rye.”

“But Katniss-”

“Put Delly on the phone, Rye.”

He huffs, but there’s a shuffle on the phone, and Delly’s mild tone comes through. “Hi, Katniss,” she says. She sounds as though she’d been crying, but makes no sound to mention it. I sniff and wrap the throw blanket I’d pull over my shoulders tighter around me. “What’s going on?”

“I-” I swallow, trying to push down the tears I feel forming. “I don’t know, but I have to call the hospital back with a name and phone number. You know how Peeta feels about his mother, and-”

“His father…” Delly gives a heaving sigh. “You know Abel would do anything for Peeta if he were still around.” I nod. I do know this. But, I also know that a bad heart and too many years on sore feet ended his life before it should have, and there was nothing to do for that. “Can you just tell Rye I’m giving the hospital his phone number, and to be sure to pick up when they call?”

“Of course,” Delly replies, sugar-sweet. “Please take care of yourself, Katniss. If you need to stay with us, you’re welcome.”

“Gale’s going to be here tonight,” I say, feeling unendingly grateful for Rye and his wife. “But thank you, Delly.” She makes a short, but content noise.

 

 

The next few days felt like a blur. And at the end of each, I wish I could forget it, because the news gets worse

and worse

 

and worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Prim comes home the day Peeta loses his leg.

They say “he’s going to lose his leg” when really they mean “we’re going to cut off this limb” and “there’s nothing we can do because he’s still in a coma that we don’t know if he'll wake up from”.

 

 

I go to the hospital the day after the surgery, greeted kindly by Delly and Rye, and less warmly by Peeta’s mother and his eldest brother Matthew. Something tells me they blame me, much like I blame myself.

The doctor explains to them, and I listen, what exactly caused them to amputate his left leg. They say that when the car rolled, it was crushed - irreparable. That they had hoped for as long as they reasonably could, that the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked on the x-ray. That they would go in, and see more than bone fragments and dead muscle tissue. That they were wrong.

The doctor continues. “I don’t know when - or even if - Peeta will wake up. I don’t want to give you,” he glances at me, “any of you, false hope. His body looks like it’s in repair mode, but if he stays like this for much longer, he’ll lose serious brain function.” I stiffen at the thought - Peeta, without all the things that made up Peeta, was not something I could imagine, or even wanted to. If he couldn’t bake, or sing, or read Hamlet to me late at night when I’m too afraid of nightmares to go to sleep-

“What does that mean?” asks Irene, Peeta’s mother, and her shrill voice breaks through my revery. “As in, he’ll be-” she splutters, and I can see Rye tensing for a less than perspicacious response to his injury.

“Mother,” Matthew cuts across her, and he shakes his head. She shuts her open mouth with a snap, and rounds on me. I was ready for this, for the blame. It had been me to call them in the first place. Me who he’d been coming to collect from the bus station. Me who had seen his car slip on the black ice and roll. Me who hadn’t run fast enough - me-

“You,” she says. “If you had just waited to come home until the morning, none of this would have happened, and my son wouldn’t be laying in that hospital bed-”

“Mom,” Rye said, his voice soft. It wasn’t enough to cut across her yelling. I can feel the tears falling on my face, but don’t attempt to stem them. Irene walks towards me, a finger outstretched, and I don’t even try to back away. _I deserve this,_ I think.

“If he’d never had to come get you, he wouldn’t be in a coma right now-”

“Mom,” Rye repeats, a little louder, but still not loud enough. I want to tell him not to defend me.

“He wouldn’t be risking his brain, his career, his life, on some white-trash bitch from the sticks,” her finger meets my chest, and even as she insults me, I don’t feel the usual defensive anger that would rise at a comment like that. “And my son wouldn’t be a fucking cripple-”

“Mom!” Rye cuts across, and she looks at him, eyes wide. Rye never spoke over her, not once in the three years I’d known them. “You can’t fucking talk like that. That’s not okay.” Irene gives him a nasty look, but backs down.

“I’m sorry, son.” She swallows and looks at me again, anger abated and replaced by a doleful look. “You stay away from me.”

 

* * *

  

Peeta wakes up a few hours after the altercation in the hallway.

 

He asks for me.

 

Tears fall hot down my face as I close the door behind me on his request. His voice is hoarse and his vision is foggy, but he seems like… Peeta. He beckons me over, and I slowly walk, watching his face for signs of anger, or hurt, or blame. He just looks relieved to see me. I notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the sallow tone to his skin. Whatever a coma was, it didn’t look restful; Peeta seeped exhaustion.

“Peeta,” I say, sitting in the chair beside his bed, one hand on his hip. He reaches down to clutch my hand in both of his. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please,” he says, eyes full of a hurt I could barely bear to witness. “Please don’t apologize to me.”

“It’s my fault-” I say, voice cracking. “If I hadn’t-”

“It absolutely is not,” Peeta cuts across. “And I didn’t ask you to come in here so we could cry about what happened. I asked you to come so I could talk to you about where we’re going to go from here.” I stare at him, wide eyed and shocked, but pleased.

So we talk. For a long time. About a new apartment with an elevator until he learns to walk again, and new schedules at the bakery, and - he suggests this - a service dog. I smile at the idea of the last one, and especially his example - a dog to retrieve beer from the fridge when he didn’t want to get into and out of his wheelchair every twenty minutes. A laugh bubbles up and escapes me, for the first time in a week, and I remind him they do more than that, and he concedes. I want to find something off about him, something I can poke until it reveals that he’s not okay with losing a leg and being in a car accident and me, but his already well-adjusted attitude does him well here.

He doesn’t let Irene in.

I couldn’t blame him.

* * *

#Six months later#

I push the apartment door open with my foot after unlocking it, arms weighed down with plastic bags filled to bursting with groceries.

“Peeta,” I call, frustrated by the day and the disorder of our tiny kitchen. Moving an apartment with only one floor had been nice for a time, but the reality was that we couldn’t afford it on top of Peeta’s medical bills and physical and emotional therapy. Each penny stretched to the length that I was comfortable having three pennies for, and he still couldn’t work. Six months post-op and he was still bed ridden. Part of me suspected he’d given up.

I couldn’t blame him.

“Peeta,” I call again, louder. His wheelchair bumps into the piano in the living room, the telltale sign of his arrival, and he comes, face impassive.

“What?” he asks. I pull a bottle of wine and a bag of popcorn kernels out of the bag and set them on the counter in front of him, then dig around until I find the movie I’d bought while looking for a new, longer phone charger for Peeta in the electronics section. I hold up the copy of _Red Dawn_.

“I got the 1984 version, since I know you hate the remake.” I grin at him and try to pass it to him. He frowns at me.

“You hate that movie,” he says. “You call it teleological.”

“But you like it,” I say, shaking it in front of him. He ignores the movie.

“So?”

“So,” I say, slamming the movie down on the counter, anger surfacing. “I’m just trying to do something nice, Peeta. I made a couple extra bucks in tips at the restaurant and I wanted you to have something new to watch while I’m working.” He just stares at me, then backs out of the kitchen, leaving me standing among the groceries and chewing the inside of my lip. I had officially grown tired of Peeta’s attitude. The man I saw in the hospital, hope in his eyes and love in his heart felt gone, replaced instead by the apathetic, tired person who pushed me away when I tried.

I put the groceries away slowly, resolving to clean out the fridge tomorrow while Peeta’s at physical therapy, and then go into the living room. Bedclothes still littered the couch from where I’d slept the night before, and I look at them with a mix of revulsion and deep, dark sadness. I can hear Peeta’s difficult movements as he tries to resume his position in bed, and then a crash. I'm in the bedroom before he can call. He’s laying on the floor beside the bed, the bed-side lamp shattered beside him. His hands are over his face and he’s shaking with what looks like silent tears.

“Peeta?” I ask. “Can I help you up?” He removes his hands from his face - I was right. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is damp. He sits up without help and ignores me.

“If you could deal with the lamp, I’m fine,” he responds.

“Please let me help you,” I say, stepping forward.

“I said I’m fine!” he snaps, yanking his hand away as I try to take it. I step back, a frown creasing my brow. “God, it’s like you don’t think I can do anything myself.”

“I don’t think that,” I whisper. “You fell.”

“Leave me alone.” His voice is cold. “I’m serious, why are you still here? I don’t want you here.” I blink rapidly at these words.

“What?” I say, surprise coloring my voice.

“I don’t want you here. We don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore, and I know it’s because you can’t stand to look at me.”

“Peeta-”

“If you feel guilty, you should have just said that-”

“That’s not what’s-”

“Because you don’t have to stay-”

“I want-”

“And I don’t want you to stay.” He sits heavily on the end of his bed, and my voice goes dry and silent. “I would like if you left,” he pauses and looks at me. Tears fill his eyes again. “I don’t need you to stay.”

 

* * *

 

I resolve myself to the fact that there’s nothing left to say, because after a few seconds of me stumbling to find the right words, Peeta moves beneath the covers and closes his eyes and shuts me out.

Years of couch surfing after my father’s death and my mother’s sink into pills taught me to pack light. I call Gale, and he agrees that I stay with him for a while. Prim’s voice in the background is a comfort. I leave a long note to Delly and Rye after I call them to explain the situation. I tell them where the secret money is, where the next months rent is, and what the meal plans mean. Peeta’s medications are labeled and in a shoebox in the bedroom closet. I take it down and place it next to the note. I scratch down the numbers of all of his doctors, of his therapist and his psychiatrist and the service animal place we’d been talking to.

 

and then i leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I just wanted to pop in here at the end for a couple of things.  
> I do not, nor have I ever, condoned the use of the word 'cripple', even as a person with a disability. My relationship with my pain and my disability has changed over the years, but I think it's important to establish that I think that word is dumb, bad, and mean.  
> The other thing is that everyone recovers from injuries differently, and I was basing my idea of Peeta's recovery on how my grandfather recovered after he was in a coma for many days and couldn't walk afterward. Some people bounce back - some do not. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Never Reignite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi,  
> Just wanted to jump in here before we started to say that I completely fucked up this story - I managed, somehow, to switch from third to first person within the first two chapters. I feel like a complete dingus. Anyway, I fixed chapter one and now the whole story is in first pers POV, if you wanna reread that. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Get ready for the major feels.

#Two years ago#

With the summer, Prim announced she was moving back home permanently, much to my chagrin and Gale’s excitement. She insisted it was more important to be near me than at a school half-way across the country. I disagreed, but couldn’t argue her acceptance letter to Panem University, and conceded to her finishing her education half an hour from us. I noticed her growing closer with Gale every time she returned from out of state, and then one day, just before I’d left Peeta, they were living together. Their sudden romance made me warm, but lonely.

 

 

Gale took me in and let me cry for a long time; he listened as I explained the tension, the anger, and the blame that I assumed Peeta now felt, so different from his gentle words in the hospital room six months ago. Gale was angry, but in a calm way, which surprised me - I didn’t altogether care for it. He suggested I move in permanently with him and Prim, that they didn’t need the study and the apartment was too big and on the edge of their budget anyway. I shook my head and wrinkled my nose at the idea.

“And risk hearing my best friend and my sister boning? No, thanks!” When he laughed, I laughed. We searched and searched; I was able to move into a new apartment in just a few weeks. I sat him down to talk about what would happen next with me, with he and Prim, with the three of us and our friends, who were really Peeta’s friends. He kept that same calm, quiet anger then as he had when I’d called, when I’d arrived, when I’d cried in his lap. It felt unreal without Gale’s booming, fiery words and his fast, flooding temper.

“How are you so calm, Gale?” I asked after some time, worried and confused. He shook his head.

“We egg each other on,” he started slowly, “and that’s fine most of the time. But…” He chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes drifting over my blotchy face and tear-streaked makeup. “You need calm, quiet waters. When you need fire, I can be fire. I can scream and rage and break someone’s nose if you’d let me.” He cleared his throat. “I relied on Peeta to help you stay the same gentle Katniss I met all those years ago. And you need someone to remind you that sometimes it’s okay to be soft.” Then he smiled and rustled my hair. “We’ll both know when the time comes that we can provoke each other again. Trust me, Catnip, this isn’t permanent.” And again, when he laughed, I laughed. He was my emotion - my ability to stay sane and calm. I’d never relied on Gale like this before. It was new and uncertain and even though I was so grateful for him, I was ready for things to go back to the way they were. It made me crave Peeta even harder, and I thought about calling him, going back to him.

But his number stayed blocked, the angry decision final and fierce.

Sometimes at night, when everything felt too real, I would pull out the box of photos I’d taken on our first vacation with my father’s old film camera. He looked happy - I looked happy. When I looked in the mirror, I realized I didn’t look like that anymore. Every time I’d try to get back there, my resolve faltered, and I’d lay in bed, empty.

 

* * *

 

In the months that passed, I stayed the course I learned to teach myself: I taught archery and horseback riding at the local community center, and made enough money to help Prim start to pay back her student loans early; I continued my friendship with Annie and Finnick, despite the loss of Peeta’s company; I studied the textbooks that Prim lent me, hoping one day I would return to college; I tried to let myself cry, even with the empty blackness eating me whole; I went on two dates.

I cried on both.

Neither called me back. I didn’t push it.

And in the years that passed, one thing remained consistent: I missed Peeta.

And I worried.

* * *

#Present#

I watch the fireworks, feeling my blood boil at the memories that sparked with Peeta’s arrival here. Gale smooths one hand over my back. In the two years since leaving Peeta, Gale had slowly turned back into my best friend: all fire and wild energy and provocation. He still worked at the bait and tackle shop with Finnick. Each blast from the fireworks as I sit here now makes my heart pound a little faster. I drain the last of my drink and press my hand to the back of my neck, feeling a cold sweat build there. Panic is bubbling in my chest, and I while I know that if I ignore it, the feeling will eventually fade, my breath begins to pick up and I feel a rush of anxiety as the pops and cracks spill over the sky. Gale’s soothing hand feels irritating on my hot skin, and I pull away, letting it fall onto the grass as I hunch over my knees.

“Katniss?” asks Finnick, concern rousing his tone. I shake my head and stand.

“Bathroom,” I say, bile rising to the back of my throat. I just have to keep telling myself that I’m fine, and that’s what echoes in my head all the way to the bathroom. _I’m fine,_ I think, jumping as another firework bangs overhead. It was years since my father died, and I’d been in and out of therapy for that and my abandonment issues, but that didn’t fix the anxiety that broiled just beneath the surface as I slid the deck door open and stepped inside. The noise inside the house wasn’t any better - in fact, part of me wondered if it wasn’t worse. Between the bursts of laughter which bounced around the open space, and the hard, pounding bass, I felt like I was going to explode.

I find the bathroom mercifully empty, and lock myself into it. I didn’t really have to use it, but the quiet box of a room felt like a sanctuary from the noise that pounded through me from the outside. My phone buzzes in my pocket, text-tone binging a few times, but I ignore it, hoping whoever it was would go away. I needed space - I needed to be alone. Going out had been a bad idea, I knew that now. I unzip my windbreaker, feeling overheated in the tiny room, and peel it off, laying it over the sink’s edge. My sweater follows and I stumble drunkenly to the sink. Too much alcohol in too little time was starting to take its effect. My pupils are blown out, my face flushed and hot, and my mascara is smudged under my eyes from tears I hadn’t realized were forming. I stare at myself for a long time, and I try to recognize the face in the mirror. It looked fuller, less gaunt, and I don’t see myself in the eyes anymore. Something within me was shifted, and I can’t place what it is.

Was I finally happy?

I jump at a knock on the door.

“Be out in a few,” I say as I unzip my pants. I practically fall onto the toilet as I lift the lid and let out a hushed giggle. There’s silence behind the door for a moment, and I lean forward as I break the seal for the night.

“Katniss?” a voice echoes through the door. I swallow and sit up a little straighter, a wave of anxiety washing over me. Between the panic from the fireworks and the desperation to get away from the people in the party, I had almost forgotten about Peeta. My lips press firmly shut - I’m dedicated to not saying anything until I hear his uneven steps fade away, but he knocks gently again. “Please answer me.” He sounds drunk and there’s a soft, almost begging quality to his voice. I clear my throat.

“I’m just trying to use the bathroom,” my voice is barely audible above my own heartbeat, but I know he hears me because there’s a gentle thud against the door, like a head or shoulder hitting the wood without trying to break through. I hear him sigh. I finish my business and stand, flushing the toilet before moving my windbreaker and sweatshirt onto the floor with one of my elbows and washing my hands. 

“Can I talk to you?” Peeta asks through the door. His sweet tone digs into me, and I feel like an asshole when I reply.

“No,” I say resolutely, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes are bright with tears, my face is deeper pink, and even through the haze of emotion, I feel numb from drink.

“Please, Katniss,” he begs. I close my eyes, fighting tears. I feel more sober in the quiet, but the room still spins slightly and annoyance dredges itself up from beneath the anxiety, though I know it’s at myself and not Peeta. His last words to me before tonight shift in my head: _“I don’t want you to stay. I would like if you left. I don’t need you to stay.”_ I feel unhinged, like the flood of tears that hits me is an undoing. I want to go home - I don’t want to be around him. I wish I’d never come out; I knew he would be here, or that he would possibly be here. I thought I could handle it.

 

I can’t.

Peeta knocks gently on the door again.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper, but my heart isn’t in the anger, so I pull the door open for him to see my tear-stained face. He steps back a little, and his gaze is unfocused. When he sees the tears, the hurt, the anguish that spreads across my face, he recoils and I watch as shame rears its head within him. It’s an ugly look on him - it doesn’t do for such a beautiful face to reflect back such a harsh emotion. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand and sniff hard, then wave him into the bathroom. He looks confused. “It’s quiet in here,” I say. He slides in and I shut the door behind him, locking it again. I look at him, really look at him, for the first time in two years, and feel a shroud of guilt. His eyes are equally bright as mine, and his face just as deeply flushed.

“What?” I ask impatiently. “I have friends to get back to.” He nods quickly and swallows. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and my eyes move over his unshaven face. I’d never thought about it, but a beard looks good on him, even as short as this one is. His blue eyes are bright with drink but dark with anxiety, and he worries at the hem of his shirt with his free hand.

“I’ll make this fast,” he says, and leans his cane against the wall before grabbing me by the shoulders. For a moment I think he might kiss me and lean away, but he just stares resolutely into my eyes. I can feel how he leans more on his right leg than his left, and watch his jaw shift as he goes between biting his tongue and trying to speak. I shift uncomfortably, but don’t try to shake his hands off.

“Spit it out, Peeta,” I say. My tone is unkind, but I don’t care.

“I fucked up-” he swallows and takes a deep breath. “I fucked up two years ago and I’ve regretted it every day since then. I talked to my therapist about it for a long time, but when I finally-” he shakes his head, “-I couldn’t call you. Even if I had wanted to, I figured you would have blocked my number. I- I didn’t even try, though.” He clears his throat, and I can sense the tension building within him, a tight mass that struggles to be released. I wait, because I know Peeta, and I know he’s not done. “I was angry and hurt and I felt like I was broken and would never be fixed again. Between your doting and me pushing you away and us not sleeping in the same bed-” tears fall from the corners of his eyes, though his voice remains steady, “-I had the horrible thought that fucking morning that maybe it was your fault. And it freaked me out so bad that I just lashed out. I didn’t want you to see me that way anymore. Because I think- I think-” Peeta lets his hands drop so he can cover his face and pace away. I lean against the sink, watching as he limps back and forth in the tiny bathroom. “I think I blamed you. I blamed you and I shouldn’t have because neither of us could have predicted the roads would be that fucked up-” he takes another deep breath and looks at me, as if readying himself for a final hurdle. I keep my eyes glued to the wall, because I think if I look at him I’ll break the resolve I’d built up over two years. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I fucked it up so bad and I can’t even begin to describe how horribly, terribly sorry I am.” He stands in front of me, leaning down to catch my eye, and I look at him with tears in my own. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I had to put it out there because I can’t-”

I place two fingers on his lips and shush him quietly. We stand there for a long time, and I move my hand to smooth over his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard and the slick of his tears. I want to sob, but swallow the noise down.

“I forgive you,” I say with a hoarse voice. He looks shocked.

“You do?” he asks. His hands come back up to my shoulders and I let my own drop. I sigh deeply.

“I did a long time ago, Peeta,” I reply truthfully. “There was no use holding onto all that.” I feel sober again, even locked in the tiny room as we were. No one in the party had come knocking - I wondered momentarily if we weren’t meant to be in this bathroom, but shoved the thought away. I shake my head as tears spill once more from his eyes and shake off his hands. He looks surprised, as if he’d forgotten he’d gripped me in the first place. “I’m going home now.” I scoop my discarded layers up off the floor and turn back to him. “You can call me in the morning, and say this again sober and without cornering me in a bathroom.” I unlock the door and stalk from the room, back outside.

“Hey,” Gale says, meeting me by the backdoor. I jump when I see him and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Are you ready to go?” he asks, face full of understanding. I nod and look away from him. Finnick and Annie stand nearby whispering to each other. Some paranoid part of me wonders if their whispers are about me, but Annie gives Finnick a flirtatious smile and my fear quells. Gale swings an arm over my shoulder and squeezes me to him before pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. I laugh and shove him playfully away.

“Ick,” I say, sticking out my tongue. It was easy to pretend I was okay around him.

“We’re going,” Gale calls to Annie and Finnick. I check my watch and feel a swell of guilt when I see it’s barely past nine o’clock.

“Do you guys all want to come to my place for another round?” I ask, convincing myself that company is better than sitting in an empty apartment dwelling on the things Peeta said. Annie smiles and crooks an eyebrow at Finnick, who nods enthusiastically.

“Sure!” he replies. “We’ll meet you there.” Gale puts one hand on either of my shoulders and pretends to guide me out of the house. I see Peeta, shrouded in the shadow of the hallway where the bathroom is, and look away quickly, laughing as Gale murmurs a few bars of the conga-line song in my ear. He tells me to text Prim, let her know he’d be home late and not to wait up for him as we get into his pickup and he starts back down the winding hill into the heart of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have the next chapter done by tomorrow. I've been writing this story for years and I'm only just now swinging it out here. I really hope you liked it. I'm trying to get back into tumblr, but it's hard because I'm super busy right now. Once I get into the swing of things, I'll probably try to update pretty regularly on there - maybe I'll even give you a sneak peak of stuff.  
> Toodles~ -Olive


	4. You Might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Katniss remembers a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi,  
> Thanks all so much for the kudos and the nice comments. This is a slow burn fic, but hopefully not too slow. I already have the majority of chapters five, six, and seven written, but I wanna fine tune a few things. I'm trying to show rather than tell - working in that movie making knowledge - but sometimes we just gotta go with characters explaining things to each other. I promise this is the last chapter with a flashback. The rest you're gonna have to fill in yourselves!   
> Anyways - little bit of a longer chapter today. Some more later this week. I want to keep updating everything evenly, this is just what I have available.   
> If you ~love~ Peeta and Katniss and want to see more of them by me, go check of For Crown and Country, a historical drama. I'm posting an update to that later today. <3 <3 see ya at the end!

I try not to think about Peeta on the way home, but Gale can sense the uneasiness in me and clears his throat dramatically. I roll my eyes.

“Peeta cornered me in the bathroom-” I begin, realizing my poor choice of words as soon as they exit my lips.

“He what?” Gale asks, and I can sense the fiery anger that was absent after I left Peeta swelling behind the words.

“Let me explain before you go all _Towering Inferno_ on him,” I say. Gale grumbles but relents, staying silent long enough for me to gather my scrambled thoughts.

“When I went inside, he must have seen me, and he wanted to talk,” I begin again. “I was in the bathroom because it was quiet,” a firework flashes across the night sky, followed swiftly by the sound of its explosion, and I jump. I let out a huff and try to remember where I’d been going with my statement. Gale scratches his head.

“And so he-”

“I let him into the bathroom because I didn’t want to come out there. He talked,” I say, feeling hounded. “He apologized, actually.” Gale glances at me then makes a surprised noise.

“Took him long enough,” Gale grunts indignantly. I roll my eyes at him again.

“You should have seen him. He looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.” My phone dings, and I check the message.

 **Almost to your place!** Annie’s message reads. **Saw Peeta on the way out. You okay?**

 **Fine,** I reply, fingers tapping fast against the screen. **I’ll explain when we’re all together.**

I turn my phone back over, so the screen is facing my lap and it digs again. I glance at the screen then read the message; this time it’s from Prim.

 **Tell Gale goodnight from me,** she says, attaching smiley face and sleeping face emojis to the text. **I hope you had fun. I have class tomorrow!!** Prim’s new schedule, working her through the summer to finish her degree by the end of the year was stressful for all parties, not least her. I didn’t envy her in the slightest.

“Prim says goodnight,” I relay as we pull up to my apartment building. I stare up at my dark window and try not to wish I was still with Peeta. It doesn’t work.

#

Annie, Finnick, Gale and I stay up too long talking and laughing about everything and nothing at all. I leave my confession about the conversation with Peeta until the end of the night, when the fireworks were beginning to die down and Annie’s sleepy demeanor left her less likely to give me any looks of understanding or pity. They all three wish me luck when I admit that I told him to call in the morning, and Annie holds my hand for an extra long moment by the door. Her eyes read something that I can’t decipher with the lateness of the hour, but she gives me a tight smile and leaves without explanation. The night is followed too swiftly by the morning. I wake up early, exhausted but not nearly as hungover as I would have thought. My head swims with the images of Peeta the night before, and I feel a bitter taste in the back of my mouth, tannic and acidic.

* * *

 #Two years ago#

Peeta watches me dress for work, though his eyes are unfocused. His right leg is propped up under the covers of our bed, the other breathing open air. He told me it was hot all the time. I didn’t know what to say. I often didn’t know what to say to him, it seemed. The image of the car skidding on the ice and rolling front over back over front still raced through my mind most nights. Sometimes I would get up in the dead of night when I was sure Peeta was asleep and sit in the kitchen with the lights out, praying not to fall asleep and dream again. I would sneak back in before sunrise and curl in close to him. Sometimes he let me; sometimes he pushed me away, even in his sleep.

“I think you should sleep in the living room,” Peeta says as I pull my long sock up over one of my legs. I freeze, a human-sized flamingo, and look up at him. He just carries on with the same blank expression. “You do most nights, anyway.” I lower my leg and give him a confused look.

“No, I don’t,” I scoff, feeling mildly offended. Frustration tugs at my brows, pulling them down into a scowl.

“Yeah, you do,” he corrects. “After you think I’m asleep. You sneak off to the living room.” He gives me a cold look. “You’re not even sneaky.”

“I’m not trying to be,” I reply, leaning over to finish rolling up my sock, “because I don’t sleep in the living room, Peeta. Sometimes I just have bad dreams.”

He nods and smirks. “So do I, but you don’t see me sneaking out of our bed - oh, wait!”

“That’s not fair,” I say, glowering at him.

“No, Katniss, what’s not fair is that you called me at midnight to pick you up when you knew there was ice and could have walked.” My heart sinks. He sighs. “I didn’t mean that.” I nod and look away again. “Look,” he sits up and wipes a hand over his face, “until I can get my own sleep issues under control, can you, please?” His expression is sad but angry, and I nod, knowing but not able to stop the hurt look that rushes to my face. I sniff and toe on my bright, white sneakers.

“Rue will be by in half an hour to do physical with you,” I say, slinging my purse over my shoulders. “Lunch is in the fridge, and Rye said he’d come by today. I told you that Tuesday.”

“I remember,” he says cooly. I lean in and kiss the top of his head, almost surprised when he doesn’t pull away. My hand smooths over his back and I whisper into his hair. “I love you.”

He doesn’t reply. I leave, but feel hollow as the door closes behind me.

* * *

#Present#

My phone rang with a number I didn’t have saved too soon after I’d poured my first morning cup of coffee. The sound of my phone buzzing on the linoleum countertop makes my head pound, and I feel even more nervous than I thought I would. I slide my finger across the screen and bring the phone to my ear.

“This is Katniss,” I say, trying to clear my throat to drive the sleep out of my voice.

“Hey,” Peeta says. “It’s me.”

“I know,” I whisper. I take a sip of my coffee, black and strong, and walk slowly to my windows. The apartment I was renting was small, and in a rougher part of town people liked to call The Seam, but my windows were tall and wide, and they looked out over a large span of green park, which I would sometimes take morning runs in. This morning, however, I just watch as commuters travel through it from high above. I clear my throat again. “How’s your hangover?” Peeta laughs, and my lips pull up at the edges; it has been so long since I’ve heard that sound.

“It’s not terrible. How’s yours?”

“I’m nursing what’s left with a cup of black coffee and some ibuprofen.” A comfortable silence falls between us, and I’m struck by the familiarity of him. It’s his turn to clear his throat this time.

“I want to say everything I said last night all over again, but I think it would invalidate how heartfelt it was if I tell you I can’t remember most of what I said,” he admits. I laugh, and it’s low and throaty and it sounds like how I’ve always laughed with him. The feeling stings in a fresh wound, like a memory that was cut open on seeing him again.

“Peeta,” I say, and I can almost hear him stiffen, readying himself for the blow he expects to receive. I feel that same guilt I always do when I think of him rear its ugly head. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Katniss,” Peeta says, his voice low and slow and so, so steadying. “You don’t need to apologize to me.” He clears his throat. “You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s exactly why I’m apologizing. I just-”

“Hush,” he says sharply. “You forgave me for forcing you away; I forgive you for letting me. Deal?”

“Alright,” I say as I smile, and hard as I try, I can’t bite back the question that springs to my lips. “Why did you tell me to leave?” I ask. He goes silent for a long time, and if it weren’t for the fact that I can hear him breathing, I would wonder if the line had gone dead. Eventually, he speaks, his voice a soft undertone.

“I wish I had an answer that made sense, but, uh,… I think I was just so… paranoid about everything - being in the car, going out in public, the wheelchair, you - all of it. I fell that morning and it frustrated the hell out of me and I just wanted to be left alone. You were too close and- and-” He pauses and sniffs, then clears his throat again. The stumbling words break my heart. “And I wanted to hurt you.” I let out a soft breath. “I spoke without thinking and regretted it as soon as I realized you were gone.” I take another sip of my coffee and wrap my arms around myself. “I can’t say I’m sorry enough.”

“Shush,” I say. “I told you I forgave you. I just- I didn’t know how to tell you I forgave you, and seeing you last night-”

“I know,” he says, and I know he does. “Rye had words for me that day that I will never forget.” He breathes deeply, forcing a laugh; I try to chuckle in return, but the memory of it all is too fresh. I can hear his bed squeak beneath him as he moves. I watch the ground outside a little longer before I walk back towards my kitchenette and lean on the breakfast bar that separates it from the small sitting room. “So,” Peeta says, trying to sound casual. “You and Gale look happy?”

“What?” I say, and a real, genuine laugh bubbles from my lips before I can stop it, loud and hard and slightly hysterical. “N-no,” I stutter between bursts of laughter. I can hear his disgruntled sigh on the other side of the phone.

“What do you mean, no?” he asks, and it makes me laugh harder, to the point that I’m doubled over, struggling to breathe. “Stop laughing!” he says, even though I can hear him beginning to chuckle, egged on as he always was by my raucous guffaws.

“I’m not with Gale,” I finally gasp out. “Jesus.” I sigh and giggle again, but purse my lips and stem another wave of laughter. “I’m not with Gale,” I repeat, this time with a more serious tone. “I was with him for like a week in high school. We held hands once and that’s when we knew it wasn’t for us. He’s been dating my sister for a little over two years.” The reminder of them getting together reminds me again of the reason they did, and all the humor fades from me fully. Peeta clears his throat.

“I just assumed,” he says quietly.

“He took care of me,” I whisper, “after.” I can feel tears now, and the juxtaposition of my laughter and my tears has me reeling. I want to hang up the phone and block Peeta’s number again, escape and not look back, but I feel that same unease that I always do when I think about running from him.

“I, uh, wanted to talk about that.” Peeta sounds unsteady. “I have to get ready for work, but I should be done around six. Can I take you out to dinner?” I bite my lip and consider his offer. I wasn’t doing anything today, though I had plans to go to the archery range and get some practice shots in before families came back from the long Fourth of July weekend. I shrug off the inclination to say no, knowing I could always cancel or leave or just not show up.

“Sure,” I reply. “Text me the where and the when, and I’ll meet you.” I hang up the phone before he can say anything else and call Prim. Her phone goes to voicemail before I remember she’s in class. I have three unread texts on my phone, all of them from Gale.

**Don’t throw up.**

**Do you need to go home?**

**If you’re not out in thirty minutes, I’m coming in to get you.** I laugh at his self-assured protectiveness.

 **When did you turn into such a dad?** I text back, following the text with one of the smiling tongue-out emojis. I set my phone down on the counter and head to the shower, resolved to wash the feeling of guilt out of my skin with a boiling hot shower.

#

What was meant to be a short shower turns into a long shower and a nap, and I wake up with the afternoon sun glaring through the open curtains in my living room. I cover myself again with the robe and sit up, feeling dazed and slightly hazy from the unexpected sleep. My phone still rests on the breakfast bar, but I glance at the time on my watch and see it’s nearly two in the afternoon. It was unlike me to nap - I was more opposed to napping than I was to skipping a meal, as I never woke up feeling refreshed, and today was no different. I make my tired way into the bathroom, choking out a yawn as I stagger to the sink to splash some cold water on my overheated face. It helps. My back aches from the shitty couch, but I feel more awake and alert than I did while on the phone with Peeta.

Peeta.

I walk slowly back to the phone, almost dreading the text I was hoping wasn’t there.

 **I’ve always been a dad, thx v much.** Gale’s reply was full of snark, but I knew he was right; he’d been raising his younger siblings longer than I did, and with less problems or complaints. His reply is followed up by: **How was the talk?**

 **It was okay. He asked me to dinner?** I type back, forming the last statement into a question.

 **Call back late - I’ve got class all day. Emer?** Prims response was short and to the point. I type a quick reply to let her know everything was fine and move on. I almost never texted, but enjoyed the brief incidences where my inbox was full - it made me feel more popular than I was, which was never an unwelcome sensation.

 **Come by the bakery,** Peeta’s text started, **we can talk after I close it up for the night.** I frown; Annie had said he was back at work, but some part of me hadn’t made the connection between that and going back to managing his father’s shop. My heart sinks at the idea that Abel would never see the success of his son, and hardens at the thought that he may ever have to be around Irene.

 **Okay.** My one word response would have to be good enough, because I didn’t trust myself to come up with something better. I leave the texts from my mom and Cato unread and dialed Annie’s phone number.

“Hi hi,” Annie says brightly, and I feel instantly relieved at her tone.

“Hey!” I say as I walk to the bedroom. “Will you come over?”

“Sure, when?” Annie asks. I can hear the sound of food cooking in the background.

“Now?” I suggest with an almost pleading tone to my voice. Annie laughs.

“Okay.”

“Is that inconvenient?’

“No, I just gotta finish making lunch for Finnick.”

“Is he suddenly dying? I’ve never known you to dote.”

“He had the day off and I felt like it,” Annie laughs. “Jokes on him, I hate cooking so I’m not very good at it, but eggs, bacon and toast are what he’s craving and it’s all I know how to make.” She clears her throat and I can hear Finnick’s name being yelled, though it’s muffled. I wait for Annie to speak again. “I’ll be over in, say, thirty?”

“Perfect,” I reply. My phone dings with another text. “See you then!” I say. She affirms, then laughs as Finnick’s unintelligible yelling comes through the line and I hang up.

 **Does six-thirty work?** Peeta’s text reads. I consider it for a moment.

 **Yep!** I reply, then set my phone on my dresser and work on getting dressed.

#

Before I know it, Annie’s sitting on my bed weighing two of my shirts in her hands. She cocks her head to the side as I stand there in a tank-top and sweats, eyeing me over. “The blue will look nice with your skin, but I think it’s too heavy for the summer. Might wanna go with the orange.” I grimace.

“You’re only saying that because you know it’s his favorite color,” I mope. “Orange looks terrible on me.” I pull the shirt on over my head. The color is less orange than it is ocher, but it doesn’t change my opinion that my olive undertones look more green with the strong color. Annie rolls her eyes and I point at her through my mirror. She points back, and we both burst into laughter.

“You look really good,” she says, then pats the bed in front of her. “What are you gonna say to him?” She eyes me suspiciously as I sit down. “I don’t want either of you to get hurt again, but especially not you.” I know what she’s thinking - burned once and you stop putting your hand in the flame. The question now was: Why was I risking the flame again? I purse my lips and we sit in silence for a few minutes while I think of what I want to say to him.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t even know what he wants to talk about.”

“Well,” Annie says, and her voice lowers as it always does when she’s thinking. “It sounds like he wants to talk about what happened after you left. And I just want to know what you’re gonna tell him?”

“I mean, it was rough.” I shrug. “If he asks, I’ll be honest, but I probably won’t offer if I don’t need to. There’s no use hurting him without cause.”

“Well, it’s good to see your not vengeful,” Annie jokes. I chuckle.

“Why would I be?” I remember an old Bible quote my father used to tell me: _But whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also._ I don’t say it to Annie, but repeat what he would always tell me after that: “An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.”

“Thank you, Gandhi,” Annie teases. I laugh.

“My dad used to say that to me a lot,” I reply. “I was an angry kid.”

“Weren’t we all.” Annie bounces down off my bed and digs through my pants drawer, pulling out a pair of tight, dark-wash denim jeans. I grimace.

“I hate those pants.” I step off the bed and out of my sweatpants. She holds them out and digs for another pair, this time extracting my only pair of light-wash jeans, at which I audibly groan. Annie valiantly ignores me and digs through my jewelry box. “What are you looking for, exactly?” She holds out a thin, gold chain, on which hangs a small, teardrop shaped emerald. It’s the only piece of precious stone I own; Peeta got it for me on my birthday less than a year after we started dating. I hold out my hand and she drops the pendant into it.

“You don’t have to wear it. In fact, I don’t think you should. But if you really want to end whatever this is between you and he-” she watches as I set it on my dresser and begin to pull on my pants “-you should give that back. I’m not saying you have to, and I’m not even saying you want to end… this,” she waves her hands erratically, then sighs. “I’m just giving you an out. Just in case.” I nod and pocket it, then turn slowly on the spot so Annie can give me a once over. “You look great!” Annie’s smile is bright. “Let’s have lunch.”

#

We order Chinese take away and talk animatedly about the horses I’d been tending at the ranch. Annie’s keen interest draws my attention away from these evening, and I feel calmer and more subdued. By later afternoon when she’s leaving, I feel almost at peace with the idea of meeting Peeta. For better or worse, we would sit and talk. I wasn’t sure what it meant, if anything, but knew it would be best for the both of us if something was finally sorted out about the last two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I'd pop in here at the end to address the comment I got on chapter three - not anything serious, I just thought it was alarmingly coincidental that I had just finished writing that flashback blurb when your comment came through my email. I hope it helps explains some things, and that Katniss' apology was good enough. 
> 
> You're all so loved, please keep the comments, questions, and criticisms coming. It help me become a better writer, and that's always been the goal for me. -Olive


	5. These Four Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss goes to see Peeta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi,
> 
> So I'm excited to say that this story is coming to a close. I've got four more chapters to give you after this one - I'll definitely have it finished and published in full by Wednesday or Thursday. After that I'll be finishing the other short WIP's I have going and moving on to my two big works, one of which is a surprise until publication! 
> 
> I hope you have a great wonderful fantastic weekend and I will talk to you on the flip side.

After Annie leaves, I check the rest of the texts on my phone and sigh.

**How was your 4th? I know it’s hard with dad gone. Call if you need. Miss you.** My mother’s text had been the same for the last few years, and I never called her. Part of me was still too angry at her fast decline into pain meds to want to be around her or speak to her. Prim had forgiven her quickly, far more understanding than I was when she recovered and got back in touch; when she left, the only thing that kept us children fed was the food at our schools and Gale’s mother Hazelle. I could never forget that. I think a long time about texting her back, but move on, hoping that forgiving Peeta would be enough for a few years.

Cato’s texts are a bit more grueling to get through, and they’d popped in over the course of a few hours from the night before.

**9:45 - You left!**

**10:30 - Hope you got home safe :)**

**2:19 - U up still?**

**2:20 - Miss u.**

I roll my eyes and delete the thread. I’d been out with Cato Clark once after leaving Peeta, more as a favor to him than a date. Even through all his understanding words over the phone and when we saw each other in passing, my tears freaked him out enough to get him to never ask for another date. More often than not, though, I would get drunken texts at any hour of the night from him. Annie called them booty calls. I call them annoying.

I send Prim another text. **Saw Peeta. Will explain everything tonight when you call. Text before? Going to see him soon.** Part of me wishes that she wasn’t in class so I could call her and ask for any sort of explanation to my madness, but the other part - the part that is going to see him and wants to stop feeling the weight of these years apart, that part is glad she’s not around to stop me. I don’t think she would, even as I pace my bedroom, anxiously wringing a handkerchief between my sweaty palms, but I don’t even want to take the risk.

#

I glance at my watch. Six-thirty had come quickly and I stood in front of the double-doors to the cafe and bakery that Peeta had inherited from his father. The inside, though dark, was cute and different to how the last time I’d entered, almost two years ago. I pat the emerald necklace in my pocket and pull out my phone to text Peeta. **I’m here!** I tap quickly into the phone, feeling every nerve in my body tense and want to run. The idea of being alone with him frightened me almost as much as never seeing him again did, but his face peeking around the corner of the kitchen warms me. Peeta smiles and strides quickly across the store. There’s a bounce in his step that I hadn't noticed from the day before, and I realize he’s not carrying a cane. He unlocks the door and steps back to let me in.

“Hi,” he says softly. He glances at me and looks away again, face flushing pink.

“Hi,” I reply as I step into the darkened store front. Something about a closed bakery is spooky, and I shiver. Peeta swings an arm, gesturing for me to follow him, so I do. His not saying anything doesn’t surprise me; in fact, it comforts me. More often than not, Peeta didn’t need to fill the silences as I sometimes did, choosing instead to speak when the words were important. I know now that this is one of those times.

The back of the bakery is just as I remember, if not more grand. I can feel the hard edge of the pendant digging into my leg in my pocket, but I ignore it as I look around, refamiliarizing myself with the place. The steel tables, the deep sinks and the giant mixers all look the same. Copper pots hang from a rack on the ceiling. I turn to focus on Peeta. His movements are quick, almost dance-like; his cane is propped against one of the mixers. I recognize the bounce now as less of a bounce and more of a limp. His awkward steps spring a question to my lips before I can think about it.

“How long have you been walking?” I ask. He pauses as he picks up a stool for me to sit on and places it at the end of one of the long, metal tables.

“About six months,” he replies. He swallows and gestures for me to sit down. I sit and watch him. He’s wiping the metal table down with a wet, blue rag and following it up by an identical dry rag. I nod and scan his face. The familiar landscape is still interrupted by his short, dark blonde beard, which is simultaneously a welcome and unwelcome addition.

“Have you talked to your family recently?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation moving. My discomfort was more due to not knowing how to react to his sudden reappearance rather than the silence, but filling it would make me feel better, counter to how I thought earlier. Peeta nods.

“Rye and Delly work for me now,” Peeta says, and he clears his throat. “I took out a loan and bought the bakery from my mom a few months after you left.”

“Oh,” I say. “How is your mom?” This question, too, is unwelcome, but slips out because I am desperate for any new information I can glean about him.

“I don’t know,” he says as he turns away from me to wash his hands in the sink bolted into the wall. “I haven’t spoken to her since a few months after the accident.”

“Oh,” I say again, feeling stupid for not being able to say anything else. “I didn’t realize that was your last conversation with her.” I remembered the talk, one full of hurtful, mean words from Irene and protective language from Peeta. It had been a turning point in our relationship when she’d stormed out after blaming me for every bad thing that had happened to Peeta over the course of our relationship, not least his car accident. Peeta nods and looks back at me.

“My mother and I never got along. It was nothing to do with you.” Peeta shakes his hands out and dries them on a paper towel dispensed from the automatic roll beside his head. “I was trying to sort out my own feelings about the accident. I didn’t need her poisoning me against you more than my paranoid, post hospital brain already was.” He turns and pulls a large, light pink, multi-tiered cake out of one of the enormous refrigerators and sets it on the counter in front of him. “I know I said I’d buy you dinner, and I will if you still want, but I just realized this morning after we got off the phone,” he turns back to retrieve a piping bag of white frosting, “I have to finish this order for pick up in about twenty minutes. But I’m almost done and I had something I wanted to say.”

“It couldn’t wait until dinner?” I ask with a confused laugh; I’m mesmerized as he begins the intricate piping that covers most of the cake already. He shakes his head.

“No,” he answers. “Mostly because I don’t know how you’ll react.” He takes a deep breath and moves the piping bag away so he can turn the cake, but doesn’t look at me. “I still love you.” I sit so still that for a moment I hope I had turned to stone so I don’t have to reply. My heart beats erratically and I feel strange, almost nauseous. It’s worse than anxiety, and I cough at the hard knot in my throat, but it doesn’t budge.

“Oh,” is all I can choke out. It wasn’t what I’d been expecting. Butterflies flit wildly in my stomach. I might throw up. I shouldn’t throw up here. I feel confused and I stand. He continues to work, but I notice the bag tip is shaking just a little, and he keeps his eyes firmly on his work.

“If you need a second you know where the bathroom is,” I nod and turn to leave. “I’ll understand if you leave, but you should call Annie.” I look back to see him watching me with his blue, blue eyes, bright with tears but also faintly gleaming with an air of mischief. “She already knows, is all I mean.” I nod again and pull my phone out of my back pocket. Once in the lobby, I think about bolting. I know he’d get it. He probably wouldn’t even be surprised. But some part of me - the part, I think, that made me say yes to this in the first place - wants to figure out what those words mean, and why he said them. I call Annie, and put my phone to my ear as I lock the bathroom door behind me. For the second time in less than a whole day, I felt cornered in a bathroom.

“Hello?” Annie’s singsong voice grates on my nerves.

“You set me up,” I say through gritted teeth. My lip curls in anger.

“You could see it that way,” Annie says, and she sounds briefly sad. “Or you could see it as a best friend knowing both sides better than you, Katniss.” I scoff. “Seriously. Don’t write Peeta off in fear.”

“Who said I was?” I spit. My anger is at a tipping point where it turns to hysteria, and I take a few deep breaths to quell it. “You weren’t there when we broke up.”

“And you weren’t there when he was begging me to use my phone so he could apologize,” Annie’s tone had become bitter. “I don’t want to assume that your relationship was perfect near the end - in fact, I know it was far from. But he made a terrible series of mistakes leading up to that moment, and he has regretted them every day since they happened.” I shake my head. “I’m not excusing his behavior. He should feel guilty, and he should hate the way he treated you.”

“Annie-”

“Shush,” she says, cutting me off. “But he shouldn’t hate himself anymore. And I’m sorry, but the difference between forgiving him and not being mad at him anymore is a big one.” I stay quiet, processing her words. I had forgiven him and taken in the understanding that the broken, fucked up Peeta I left that morning wasn’t the same as the one who I’d woken up beside before that. Annie sniffs and I wonder for a moment if she’s crying. It takes a tear rolling down my face to realize that I am. “Did you bring the necklace with you, like I told you to?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, a swooping in my stomach as I think of it and what it means to me.

“Well, if you really want this to be over, give it back to him.” Annie waits for a long moment. I look at myself in the mirror; my face is pale and I still feel sick to my stomach, but I understand better now what she means. Every day since leaving Peeta, I felt a desperate guilt that I couldn’t repress. I now know better than ever that it wasn’t my burden to bear, that he needed more help than I could provide, but I still choke back a stronger tide of tears at the image of him curled up in bed, and me leaving our key on the kitchen table. “Katniss?”

“I have to go.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Annie lets the silence fall between us again, but I don’t hang up. “Don’t write him off just because you’re scared. I’m not telling you to fall in love with him again. I’m just asking you to listen.” I nod.

“I know.” I sigh. “I regret everyday things that could have been different.”

“No use.” Annie’s tone is sweet again, and I can tell the anger was gone. “You’re both better now because of it.”

“When did he tell you?” I ask her, still too afraid to hang up. My heart races.

“Every day for two years, Kat,” Annie whispers. “We tried to get him to move on, and in some senses, he did…” her sentence trails off and I understand. For the last two years, he and I had moved in tandem - living, but never thriving. Our disconnection from each other had been out of fear and hurt, rather than a true break or end of love. “I’m hanging up now, Katniss.” I nod without speaking, letting a fwe tears roll down my face as I lower the phone. The face I stared at in the mirror in Cato’s house yesterday is gone, replaced again by the sallow, haunted one I’d come to recognize at my own. Every ounce of guilt I felt for leaving him was replaced now by guilt for not coming back. I reach into my pocket for the necklace and pull it out; if I’d known he’d wanted me back then, so long ago, would I have gone back? I put the necklace on and tuck it beneath my shirt.

Peeta still stands in front of the cake he was meant to be finishing, spinning it slowly on the lazy susan as I re-enter the kitchen. I hear his breath hitch when my footsteps echo over the tile and through the large room, but he doesn’t look at me. I wonder if he’s crying and what he’s thinking; is he afraid of what he might see on my face? I stand behind him and lick my lips; my fingers worry at the edge of my shirt and I can feel the weight of the cool stone against my skin, a familiar and unfamiliar sensation. I clear my throat and wipe my face with the back of my hand, wicking away any stray tears.

“Peeta?” I say, hoping he’ll turn. He doesn’t, just keeps turning and looking at the cake in front of him. It looks finished and perfect, as everything he baked always did.

“You get ahold of Annie?” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk about Annie,” I say. “Turn around, please.” Peeta stands from his stool and faces me, taking a few steps towards me before thinking better of it and stopping. I stare at him. His eyes are wide and he scruffs his beard with the knuckles of his right hand. I look down at my feet then back up at him, tears blurring my vision and running hot down my face. He tries to keep an impassive expression, but a flash of disappointment creases his brow. I take a deep breath and walk forward before I can overthink and stop myself. My lips are on his in an instant. It’s a new feeling, but an old feeling, and my heart jumps into my throat as he sighs in relief and wraps his arms heavily around me.

“God,” Peeta practically moans, his voice a sweet cascade over my skin. He moves his mouth, tickling my neck with his beard. “I should have never let you leave,” he says, one hand moving to grip my waist and the other putting firm pressure on the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. I smile and bring my hands to his face, which I guide back to look at me.

"I forgave you long ago," I reply. "So just kiss me." He does, and for a moment, there’s a bubble around us, keeping us from the outside world and every danger in it. I lean into him and he staggers a little before he regains his footing. A giggle escapes me as he kisses down my neck.

“Is it the beard?” he asks, scratching it. “I thought it looked nice.”

“It does,” I say. “I just have to get used to it.” He presses a kiss to my forehead as his phone rings from his back pocket; I try to move away and his free hand tightens around my shoulder, arm constricting to keep me pressed against his chest.

“Mellark’s Bakery, Peeta Mellark speaking.” His professional tone makes me smile, and I look up to watch him speak into the phone. “Sure thing, I’ll let you in and we can take it to the car together.” He pauses while the tiny voice from the other end of the phone speaks. “Just round back - there’s a set of double doors you can back up against.” Another pause. “It is already assembled, and I don’t do on site assembly.” I press my face into his chest and listen to how his voice sounds, sort of gravelly and soft. “Well I make sure every client I have knows that, so…” He nods and clears his throat. “Right, well, see you shortly.” He ends the call and tucks his phone away, rolling his eyes, then looks down at me. “I gotta get this cake loaded up. How does burgers at the HOB sound?” I smile and nod. He kisses my forehead again and releases me; I close my eyes and wonder if everything could finally - finally - be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. There's a lot going on with them and I can't wait for tomorrow when the next one is coming to you. Y'all have been incredible and I'm so happy this got such a great reception. More tomorrow! 
> 
> xx -Olive


	6. In My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss talks some things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi,  
> I told you there would be a new chapter of this today. I'm leaving the country in a week, so I may have to take a short break from writing, but don't worry - now is not that time. Sorry for the shorter chapter today, though! I have the story finished already, so chapters will be going up tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday to finish us off. 
> 
> I hope you like what I've written. xx -Olive

Everything is not okay; I know this because the sound of my car door slamming and Peeta’s shocked face from the bakery window still rattles around in my head as I sit on Gale’s front porch, a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I quit smoking when I met Peeta, and never touched one when we were together. I didn’t even pick up the habit again, not really, but when Finnick offered me one of the cigarettes his step-sister had left in his glove-box over the weekend, I couldn’t refuse. The five of us - Finnick, Annie, Gale, Prim and I - sit on the porch now as I smoke and drink and don’t speak. My mind is swimming with the possibilities that I fucked everything up, or lead him on, or lead myself on. No one says anything as I stomp out the last half of the cigarette beneath my sneakers and drain the rest of my wine. I hold the glass over my head and someone, I don’t know who, takes it and brings it back a moment later, full. Prim is the first to break the silence. 

“Kat,” Prim starts, placing her hand on my shoulder. Her head leans into view and I glance at her. “Why’d you leave?” I shake my head. 

“I don’t know,” I reply, and take a long sip of my wine. Prim looks away from me and whispers something to Gale. The door opens and closes and though my eyes stay glued to the pavement in front of me, I know she and I are alone. She moves to sit below me on the steps, her face a mask of concerned confusion. My throat is dry and my heart is heavy. “It just got so overwhelming. I didn’t know he was-” my voice breaks off and I can feel tears beginning to form. Prim rubs my back with the flat of her hand. 

“Katniss,” she whispers, and her voice is soft and soothing. I take another long draft of my wine and set the glass down beside me. The sun is starting to set over the city. Gale’s house is on a hill that overlooks the more industrial part of town, and I watch as the slivers of orange and yellow and pink illuminate the sky. I feel myself starting to calm down, the racing of my heart starts to slow. 

“I’m so stupid,” I say, turning to Prim. She gives me a sad smile and starts to speak but I cut her off. “I love him and I ran away. I’m so afraid of getting hurt again that I didn’t even think about how I could be hurting him.” Prim continued to smooth her hand over my back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been the one comforting her, but I felt lousy. 

“You’re not stupid,” Prim chided. “You’re just cautious. Maybe overly cautious. Call him.”

“I can’t call him.” My voice is as shaky as my hands. Prim reaches out and I shift uncomfortably away. I don’t feel like I deserve to be comforted, not now. 

“Katniss, there’s a hundred reasons why you can, and another hundred reasons why you should.” Prim shakes her head at me and scoots closer on the stairs. I can feel the tears forming again. 

“What does it mean, Prim?” I ask her, staring into her cautious blue eyes. She shakes her head, confused. “He still loves me and I left him.” 

“Katniss, he pushed you away and you-”

“No, Prim!” I practically yell, standing. I knock over my wine glass and the purple-red liquid spills down Gale’s steps as the glass rolls down and breaks on the sidewalk. I stare at the broken glass and then look back at her. Concern and frustration line her face, and she stands and crosses her arms over her chest. “I shouldn’t have let him push me away like that. I was the one who-” 

“Who, what?” Prim spat. I hadn’t meant to make her mad, but there was something about the fierceness of her gaze that caught me off guard. “Who had all the power in the world to make him act like he still loved you? Katniss, you were both hurting and recovering, maybe not in the same way, but it was hard on both of you! It’s not your place to say whether you should or shouldn’t have stayed.” I sniff and look away, towards the front door. “He asked you to leave. You were just doing what you thought he wanted you to. That’s not a crime.” 

“I should have-”

“You did what you thought was right.” Prim stepped forward and caught my eye, her hand on my shoulder. “You did what anyone in your position would have done.” 

“I feel like our mother,” I whisper. Prim’s lips curl up at the edges and she moves away, shaking her head. 

“Our mother didn’t leave us Katniss,” Prim whispers. 

“She may as well have,” I say angrily. 

“But she didn’t,” Prim retorts. “Her being a drug addict isn’t the same as walking out and you know it.” I sneer at her. I’m spitting mad but I don’t want to be; my anger isn’t for Prim, it’s for me and my mother and all the reasons we both should have stuck around but didn’t.

“Explain to me the difference then,” I say as I walk down to the pathway. I turn when I reach the sidewalk and stare at her. Her face is impassive and I can tell she’s growing more and more angry. I’m raring for a fight, but it’s not Prim I want to fight with. 

“I’m not doing this with you,” she says, shaking her head. “If you want a fight, fight with someone else, but I don’t want to fight with you just because you’re angry at yourself.” 

“Explain the difference, Prim!” I shout. “If it’s so different to walk out on your partner than it is to leave your children while you go get high, explain it to me!”

“Because!” She throws her arms over her head and glares at me. “There were still mornings when she woke us up with pancakes and eggs. There were days when she would be sober enough to pick me up from school because you had to work an extra shift at the diner to pay the bills.” Prim’s eyes are swimming with tears. “I know it wasn’t easy on you, Katniss, but she didn’t just walk out.” She clears her throat. “And you need to stop being mad at yourself for leaving when Peeta asked you to.” 

“Why?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. She was right about our mom, and I knew it, but between her inability to get sober and me needing to truck Prim along to every friend’s house and spare bedroom I could find for the eight bucks an hour I made waiting tables, my anger was still hot and fresh. 

“Because if you hadn’t left when he’d asked you to, you would have done it another time, and maybe it wouldn’t have been pretty.” Prim steps down the stairs and skirts the glass in her bare feet. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes as she approaches me. I feel guilty for picking a fight with her. “He’s talking to you _now,_ ” she says, emphasising the last word, “do you really want to waste that opportunity?” I reach forward and pull her into a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “I know you want to give mom the benefit of the doubt, but I’m just not there yet.” 

“I know.” She pushes away from me. “Don’t pick fights with me. You don’t win.” 

“I know,” I laugh, gathering her against my side with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. “You’re always right, little duck. I don’t know how I don’t remember this.” Prim laughs and shoved me playfully away. 

“Come inside.” Prim pulled me up the stares as she jumped over the broken glass, and through her front door. “You owe me a new wine glass, by the way,” she teased, winking over her shoulder at me. Gale stands in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at me with a cautious gaze. Fights between me and Prim were rare, so his fear of my temper was well justified. Prim releases my hand and steps into the kitchen, leaving me in the living room with Gale. 

“You okay?” Gale asks. I nod and step towards him, and extends his arms towards me. Closing the gap between us, I press myself into him, appreciating the warmth of his embrace. He smooths a hand over my back and kisses the top of my head before releasing me and giving me a stern look. “I know you’re afraid.” He clears his throat. “We’re all uncertain… But if anyone can do this, it’s you, Catnip.” He ruffles the hair on my head. 

“Stop it!” I say, batting his hand away and fixing my hair. “I should call him.” Gale nods and steps into the kitchen. I can hear the hushed voices of my friends behind the wall, but try to block them out. My nerves are bow-string tight, and I can feel the shake of my knees and hands as I dig through my purse, which I’d flung onto the couch without a second thought. I have two missed calls from Peeta, and feel that self-same wave of guilt I always feel for him flood up within me. I tap one of them and press the phone to my ear, feeling nauseous as the ringing begins. I think he’s not going to pick up when the phone-line clicks to life. 

“Katniss,” Peeta sounds out of breath. 

“Hi,” I say, voice small. I shift where I stand, then fold myself uncomfortably onto the edge of the couch. 

“You left,” he says. He doesn’t sound angry or surprised, but confused and hurt. 

“I know.” I pause. “I’m sorry.” 

“Was it something I did? Was it-”

“It wasn’t anything,” I interrupt softly. “I just… I got overwhelmed. And scared,” I admit. 

“Oh,” Peeta says. He sounds defeated, and I want to say something - anything - to satiate him, but I’m at a loss for words. We stay on the line together for a while, neither one of us speaking, just listening to the sounds of each others breaths. I lean back in my seat, waiting. Finally, he clears his throat. “Well, I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” 

“Wait,” I say, and my breath hitches as I wait for him to respond.

“What is it?” I can hear his breathing, faster and louder than before. 

“Will you, uh,” I stammer, “please give me another chance?” He lets out a relieved sigh, but I hurry on before he can speak. “I know I fucked up by leaving and you might not want to see me again, but I’m asking you to please-”

“Katniss,” he says, breaking through my fantic explanation, “it’s alright.” He pauses, but when I don’t respond, continues. “Do you still want that dinner? I can cook-”

“Yes,” I say, cutting him off We both laugh at my interjection, and I bite my lip. 

“I’ll send you my new address,” he murmurs. I glance towards the kitchen, where Prim watches me in the doorway with a gleeful look on her face. 

“I’ll be there soon.” 

“Great.” 

“Great,” I laugh. 

“Bye,” he says, and his voice is quiet but assured as he hangs up the phone. I keep my phone in my hands, staring at the screen as Prim steps lightly but quickly across the room, trying to catch my eye. My text tone goes off with Peeta’s text, and his new address. 

“So?” Prim whispers, sliding onto the couch beside me. I glance at her then pocket my phone. 

“I gotta go,” I say. “Tell the gang I’ll be back later.” 

“Katniss-” she says, her tone warning. 

“I know.” I bring her in close and press a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry about me, little duck,” I say as I look into her eyes. She’s still so young and full of that wild innocence I wish I could get back, and for a split second, I’m cast back to the first night we spent in Gale’s family home, us crammed into his too small bed while he slept in a sleeping bag on the floor, and I’m reminded of how lucky we are to have come so far. I kiss her forehead again and step away. “I’ll call you later.” 

“Okay,” she says as I pick up my purse and hurry to the door. She waves to me as I run down the steps and jump in my car. I start it without thinking and get about half-way to Peeta’s house before I feel the wave of anxiety that was slowly starting to creep over me. Everything feels too real, too fresh, and I have to pull over to take a couple deep breaths. With the car idling, I clutch the steering wheel tightly and stare into the distance, my breathing slowly returning to normal. _Everything is okay,_ I think to myself, still dizzy but more centered. I pull back onto the road and try not to think about where I’m going as I drive the last few blocks to Peeta’s house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters are all Everlark all the time, I ~swear~. Love you! xx -Olive


	7. Movin' Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss goes over to Peeta's. They talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi!!  
> Two more chapters after this. Next one is gonna be ~spicy~. I hope you're enjoying the story so far. <3 <3
> 
> ps I apologize in advance if I forgot to add any quotes at the end of quote sentences, I was falling asleep while copying this over from my writing journal, so it looked a little rough before I did spell check.

Peeta lives in one of the single level condominiums I saw near the bakery. His shared garden makes up part of six yards in the square block of houses. I check my phone again and walk up to number three, my hands shaking as I lift one to knock on the door. It takes a moment, and I’m reaching up to knock again when the door swings open and Peeta stands in front of me, one hand still tightly gripping his cane. We both look at each other for a long minute before he unlatches the screen door and pushes it towards me. I reach out and pull it open.

“Come in,” he says softly, stepping back so I can sidle past him.

I pull my purse off and deposit it on the couch before speaking. “I, uh, didn't think to bring anything,” I say awkwardly, looking around. The unit is sparsely decorated. With plenty of room for movement. He waves my comment away and ushers me wordlessly into the kitchen with one hand on my back.

“Okay,” Peeta says, walking heavily to the stove. “I’m making stew, since that’s what I planned on eating tonight if we- if plans had changed.” I nod and smile at his attempt to brush past my unexpected exit from earlier.

“Sounds great,” I reply, looking around his kitchen. It’s small - smaller than I’d expected - but is immaculately clean and organized. The doors to his cabinets are removed, revealing shelves of plates, glasses, and canned goods, both store bought and home jarred. I can tell where his reach ends, because the top shelf is bare despite Peeta’s taller build. His ability to organize had never ceased to impress me, and this just compounded onto that. I nod, satisfied, as I turn slowly on the spot and catch sight of a small dining nook in the far side of the room. The table is already set with glasses, plates, and silver. A sweating glass jug of ice water sits between the places. I look at Peeta again and point to the table. He shrugs.

“Maybe I did it before you got here,” he says, “maybe I was hopeful you’d call.” I laugh and take his free hand in mine.

“Mind giving me a tour?” I ask. He nods and pulls me along behind him. The small condo is still very Peeta, with plain ecor and innumerable paintings. He points out the bathroom and sweeps me back through the sitting area; he has a tiny room that doubles as a painting studio just off the entrance. There are a few paintings under a canvas sheet; I make a mental note to remember to ask him about them later, if there’s time. He points down the hall.

“My bedroom is down there. It’s nothing special. Honestly, it looks almost identical to the one we had.” his nonchalant tone catches me off guard and I clear my throat before nodding uncomfortably. Peeta obviously notices my discomfort and turns us back to the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? I have…” he drags me to the fridge and opens it, showing me its well-organized insides. “I have soda, a couple beers, and some white wine.” He points to each in turn. “The wine I mostly use for cooking.”

I glance at him. He looks anxious, even desperate, and I reach for one of the glass bottles of beer - some brand I’d never heard of - and step away. He quickly walks to the cabinets and pulls a bottle opener out of one of the darawres.

“Peeta,” I say, holding out a hand to pause his harried movements. He stops and looks at me. I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He lets his shoulders fall and runs a hand over his slightly haggard expression. I stand close to him, moving so we’re to-to-toe and take the bottle opener from him. I open my beer and stare him in the eye while I take a long draft. As he watches me, his eyes turn dark and he uses his free hand to pull me in close to him before pressing his lips to mine. I kiss him with a fervor I haven't felt in two years; his beard scratches my face, but I don’t care. I gasp as his fingers curl into a fist in my loose t-shirt, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth. My moan brings us both back to reality and we pull apart. I sip my beer awkwardly as he checks the food.

“Should be done soon,” he murmurs.

“Great,” I whisper. Neither of us look at each other. I sit at the table in the dining nook and watch im finish his prep. He seems constantly on the brink of asking me something, but I don’t know what. I wait, watching him waffle back and forth between speaking and not speaking, all the while sipping my beer.

“All that stuff you did for me, right before you moved out,” Peeta starts, and my heart sinks.

“What stuff?” I ask.

“The pills and the note and the phone numbers,” he clarifies. “Did you do it thinking I didn’t love you anymore?”

I frown at him. “Peeta, I never thought you didn’t love me.” I take a short, sharp breath. Prim hadn’t reacted to my admittance of loving him back at the house, but I knew it shocked her as much as it had me. I don’t know that I’m ready to tell him just yet. “I couldn’t figure out why you were asking me to leave because I knew you still loved me. That’s why it hurt so much, I think. Maybe if you hadn’t loved me anymore-”

He shakes his head and looks at me. “You knew I still loved you?” His knife is frozen in midair above the handful of chives he was cutting.

“I didn’t-” I sigh. “I didn’t _know_. I hoped. I thought, maybe.”

“And you freaked out anyway?”

“That’s not fair, Peeta,” I say, and I’m reminded of myself from two years ago, and how unfair he’d been then as well. He goes back to chopping his chives, but his knife moves swiftly and a little more intensely than before. I take another sip of my beer and sniff. “I didn’t know. It was a shock to hear it from you, but I don’t think I ever thought you stopped loving me.” Peeta sets down the knife and moves to the stove. I turn away from him and stare at my plate. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have, because…” I trail off and drain the last of my beer, feeling anxious and woozy.

“Because?” Peeta asks. I still can’t look at him, can’t face the idea of admitting that in these last two years, I have loved him and kept my distance.

“I mean, I couldn’t have believed it because I never stopped loving you, and that would’ve totally ruined everything I’d been building towards,” I say in a rush. The clinking of bowls stops and I can feel my shoulders rising, all the tension of the day building in me.

“You-” his voice splutters out and he freezes.

“I still love you, yes,” I finish.

“Katniss-” he starts. I look at him. He has a hand on his forehead and is shaking his head back and forth, small motions that seem more like a freak out than acceptance. “Jesus, that’s-”

“I’m sorry,” I offer, looking away to my hands still shaking in my lap.

“Don’t-” he says, and when I look back up he’s serving us food. “Don’t be sorry.” He swallows hard and walks over to hand me a bowl. I smile and accept it. “It’s just, I worked myself up all day to-” he pauses as he walks heavily back to his own bowl and carries it to the place in front of me, “-to tell you, and you just come right out and say it, like it’s nothing. Like you’re telling me the sky is blue.” I look down at my food; it’s a rich looking stew atop a mountain of brown rice, with dots of cream and a sprinkle of chives.

“I didn’t-” I clear my throat and wait for him to sit. When he does I look up at him and crease my brows. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“I have loved you since the second day I knew you, Kat,” he murmurs, reaching across the table. His palm is warm, but a little clammy. I brush my thumb across the heel of his hand. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“You had every right,” I reply. He shakes his head.

“You loving me is the best news I’ve had in the six months since I started walking again,” he says, releasing me. “Eat. More serious stuff can wait.” I eat happily, reviling in the incredible food I’d missed for two long, long years. I watch Peeta as he talks about the bakery, only interjecting when I feel a question or witty comment rise. Being with Peeta is easy again. I wished I’d never forgotten.

#

The sun is almost fully set and Peeta sits across from me in the living room in a high backed arm-chair. For some reason, even without speech, I feel anxious. I think it’s the length of time he’s spent just looking at me, as if trying to memorize my face, my self all over again. It takes me just as long to think of anything to say or ask, though.

“Peeta, this will sound insensitive,” I say, pausing for his reaction. He shrugs. “Is the limp… is it permanent?”

He laughs; it’s a deep, throaty laugh that fills me up when I hear it. “No,” he says, rubbing his knee through his jeans. “I need to get my prosthetic refitted. I usually walk without any side effects. I’ve just been putting this off.”

“Oh,” I reply. I feel stupid about Peeta’s injury. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“It’s okay, Katniss,” he interrupts. “It’s okay to be curious and wonder. We haven't seen each other for two years. Everything’s still new, even if it’s old.” Peeta had always been better at words; this was no exception.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Do you still work at the diner and the community center?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I got a job at the horse stables uptown. Pays well, plus they're thinking about expanding to lessons.” I chew the inside of my lip. “When did you move?”

“About eight months ago,” he shrugs. “Lease on the other place ran out and I saw this one, decided a change might help. I can walk to work, which is nice. Still relearning how to drive.” He looks around. “I’ve been slowly getting more furniture since I almost never have to use the chair anymore.” He quells my concerned look with a small smile. “I’ll always keep it around, though.”

“What’s the real reason you don’t talk to Irene anymore?” I ask before he can throw another question at me. He laughs.

“I told you at the bakery!” he retorts. I shake my head.

“You said you bought the bakery from her. You would've had to speak to her eventually,” I shoot back. He stands and walks over, settling beside me on the couch.

“It’s not my proudest moment,” Peeta admits. I shrug.

“So?” I reach over and take his hand. “We all make mistakes.” Peeta smiles an squeezes my fingers.

“It was right after you left. I was thinking about something Annie had said to me about patience when she - my mom - showed up.” Peeta swallowed and looked away from me, squinting at the wall. I waited patiently for him to continue. “No one had thought to tell you you’d left, so when I answered the door, I was surprised when she asked for you, on top of being angry that she'd shown up in the first place.

“When I told her you were gone, she just laughed and laughed, as if she’d expected it. I couldn’t handle it, so I told her to leave, but she wanted to dote. It had been so long since I’d gotten any affection from her, so I let her stay. We talked about dad and the bakery and finally I told her I was the reason you left. That I’d-” he takes a deep rebath, and when he speaks again, there’s a waver to his voice. “That’d I’d told you to leave. She laughed again.

“I told her that night I wanted to buy the bakery. I came back and worked on cakes for a while. I could do that sitting, so it was easy, and I made them on commission, so most of the money was mine. In three months, I was able to buy her portion of the bakery outright.”

“And then you stopped talking to her?” I ask, a little confused. I shift closer to him on the couch.

“No,” he says with a humourless laugh. “She overheard me talking about you to annie, telling her I still loved you and would do anything to0 to see you again.” He cleared his throat, then shrugged and finally turned to look at me again. “She called you names and said if we ever started seeing each other again, she’d disown me. I said some nasty things to her and told her she wasn’t allowed in my place of business anymore.” I trail my fingers from his hand to his forearm. “Or my life. Yelled at her as from the front door to cut me out of her will if she wanted to, and that she was a-” he stops himself and rolls his eyes. “Anyway, not my proudest moment.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About a year ago,”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” I ask.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he answers. “I hate what I did to you and the fact that my mom was proud of me made me feel sick to my stomach.” I shake my head and move my fingers in slow circles on his arm.

“I’ve moved on,” I reply.

“But I don’t even know how-” he stops, eyes full of tears. I retract my hand.

“I spent a lot of time wondering if I did the right thing,” I say. “Thinking about what I could have changed, how I could've been better. I wondered if I hadn’t moved out of the bedroom, or just refused to leave, if things would have fixed themselves. I figured you blamed me. I blamed me.” I look out the slightly open window at the sky turning black with the night. “But Gale and Prim convinced me to see someone. She told me that before I can forgive anyone, I had to forgive myself.

“So, I spent a while figuring that out, and, in time, I forgave us both.” I push tears away with the heels of my hands. “It still sucked. I still have nightmares about it all and I asked Annie every day for months if I should call you.” I look at Peeta. His eyes are bright with tears, too.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss,” he whispers.

“I know. So am I,” I say. “What happened wasn’t okay. But it is okay to forgive yourself.” I reach out and grab his hand. We both sit in comfortable silence until my phone rings. I slide it out of my purse and swipe my finger across the screen, pressing it to my ear. “What’s up, Prim?” I say, looking away from Peeta.

“How’s everything going?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I say, glancing at Peeta. “I’ll text you later, okay?’

“Don’t be too late,” Prim goads.

“Bye Prim,” I reply with a laugh. When I end the call, I see it’s after nine and rise, pulling my purse up with me. “I should go,” I say softly. “I have tomorrow off though, so if you want to do anything…” I trail foff. Peeta’s not looking at me, and his breathing sounds hitched and labored. “Peeta?” I murmur, nudging his shoe with mine.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says, and when he looks up, his face is sterrad with tears. “I know it’s stupid and too soon and we may both live to regret it, but stay. Please? Stay with me?”

I bite my lip and think for what feels like a long time. I think about his hurtful words and my steadfast, anti-Peeta conviction after, and how desperately sad I felt every day. I think about his touch and his lips and his knew rough beard. I think about how happy I have felt all night, and how it’s the first time in two and a half years I felt true elation. I let my head fall back on my shoulders and laugh, a bitter, quite laugh.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I whisper, and I sink back onto the couch, his hands in mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~what's gonna happen next~ uwu new chapter tomorrow  
> love you xx -olive


	8. Take Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Peeta reconcile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done!! I don't have much to say except thank you so, so much for all the wonderful, incredible, amazing feedback you've given me on this story. I genuinely cannot thank you enough so I hope that the next chapter lives up to your expectations. Read on, folks!! xx -Olive

Peeta’s warm gaze and soft, hopeful smile when I sit back down is enough to melt me in place. He shifts away so I can dig my phone out of my purse.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “If I don’t let Prim know what’s up, she might start to worry.” Peeta nods as I unlock my phone and open my texts with Prim. **Staying here. Lecture tomorrow. Love!!** My text is immediately followed by a long string of hearts and grinning smiley face emojis, and I stow my phone back into my purse with a light sigh. Peeta still watches me quietly, almost reverently, and I reach out for his hands again, which he happily gives. We sit for a long time before I lean forward and place my mouth gently against his. One of my hands comes up to cup his cheek, and I press more firmly forward, trying to elicit a response. He pushes my shoulders and I sink away, disappointment flooding through me. 

“You don’t have to,” Peeta says. “Kiss me, I mean. I know you said-” 

“Peeta,” I interrupt. “Would I be kissing you if I didn’t want to?” 

He blushes and shakes his head. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” 

“Okay,” I say with a small smile. “So, will you please kiss me?” He laughs and nods enthusiastically and wraps one hand around my back. His kiss is hard and his body is warm as he pulls me closer to him. I toe off my shoes and slip carefully onto his lap, one legs on either side of his waist. Peeta lets out a surprised gasp and breaks away. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, looking up at me. A quick thrill runs down my spine and heats in my lower belly, sending a pulse through me I wasn’t sure I knew what to do with. I tuck the hair that had fallen loose from my braid behind my ear and sit back, my hands trailing down his chest to his belt. He shakes his head a little while looking at me. “You are so beautiful,” he says, still quiet. I feel a blush beginning to creep up my face and poke him in the chest. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say. We both laugh, and his hands slip down the line of my jeans. I bite my lip. “Peeta,” I murmur, looking down at my hands. “I- I don’t want you to think- I don’t want to move faster than you’re comfortable with, but-” He interrupts me by pulling me down and kissing me again with bruising force. I let out a pitiful sound, halfway between a moan and a whimper, and hook my fingers through his belt loops to pull myself forward. My movement against him brings with it a soft sound of his own, and I giggle softly against his lips as his fingers trail back up my back. 

“Can I make a suggestion?” Peeta offers, pulling away just enough to kiss over my jaw and down my neck. My heart is thrumming a wild beat, and I nod as my head falls back and he places soft, wet kisses over my exposed chest. “Bedroom?” 

“Uh-huh,” I say, nodding and slipping off of him, offering him my hand to help him up. He walks behind me, one hand always in mine, and we pass the small room that is his studio. “Wait-” I say, stopping and stepping in. “What are these?” I point towards the pile of paintings I saw beneath the canvas and he shakes his head quickly. 

“They’re nothing. Works in progress.” 

“Can I see?” I ask, watching him carefully. He swallows and seems to be trying to decide if he wants me to or not. 

“Alright,” he says finally, stepping past me heavily. Peeta pulls the canvas off and I’m struck for a moment by a familiar face: my own. He scratches his nose. “Most of these are older, from when we were together, but this one,” he points to the one in front, “is new.” Peeta had a unique painting style, like if Rembrandt and Klimt had a baby in the style of Picasso’s Blue Period. The painting is sad, and I step to crouch in front of it, noting the way my hair fell in front of my face just enough to obscure my eyes but not the miserable twist of my lips. 

“It’s incredible,” I say. I want to reach out and touch the oils, feel the texture of the piece and understand the time, but I keep my fingers laced together in my lap. I look up at Peeta. “When did you paint this?” 

“I’ve been working on it for a few months. It felt finished yesterday.” He chuckles. “But today, I’m not so sure.” He offers his hand and I take it, standing. The canvas is thrown back over the ten or so paintings, and I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What are you gonna do with all those?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Know anyone with an infatuation as strong as mine for your face?” 

“Not currently,” I tease. He leans down and brushes a soft kiss over my mouth; when he moves away, I sigh contentedly. 

“Where were we?” he asks, his blue eyes still dark with lust. I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and back out of the small studio; he flicks the light off after me and practically pushes me all the way to his bedroom. Once there, he shuts the door with his foot and turns to press me against it. His arms lock me in around my head, and I grab handfuls of his shirt around his waist, tugging it up and out of his waistband, and slip my fingers beneath it. He hisses and closes his eyes; I take the opportunity to kiss him, slowly and firmly until we were inexorably tangled together. His knee moves my legs apart, and he presses into me - I release a loud, low groan. He pulls away to catch his breath. “Would you, Katniss, mind joining me in bed?” he asks. I shake my head, then nod, and we both laugh. 

“I’m trying to say yes,” I whisper. 

“Well then, madame,” he says, and using strength I didn’t know he had, hoists me up under my thighs and carries me the last few feet across his bedroom to the bed, gently placing me on the edge. I laugh again and pull at his collar to bring him down to kiss me. His hands cup either side of my face and he pushes away, hands going to the edge of my shirt. I let him pull it off over my head and he throws it down beside him, then pulls his own shirt off. “This is the not sexy part,” he says, and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. 

“I can help with that,” I say, staying his hands with one of my own as they go to unbuckle his belt. Wordlessly, I sink to the floor in front of him, watching as he breathes out and looks away from me, around the room, refusing the meet my eye. I wrap my fingers around the buckle of his belt and unlatch it, slipping it slowly through the loops. I lay it in a loose circle on the floor and unbutton his pants. I flick my eyes up to his to see him watching me with an animalistic gaze. He tilts his head back and lets a long breath escape him. His hands have fistfuls of the bedclothes wrapped in them, and as I unzip his pants, I tug him so he stands. I slip the waist of his jeans over his ass and down his legs, carefully untucking the fabric from around his prosthetic. He sits so I can slide the pants off his legs in one final sweep and throw them across the room. I kiss his leg just above his prosthetic and stand. “There,” I say, reaching down to unbutton my jeans. “Sexy, right?” 

“God, you’re something else, Katniss,” he whispers as I wiggle out of my jeans and pull my legs out of them, kicking them across the room. He yanks his shirt over his head and throws it near the rest of our clothes. He reaches out and grabs me by the hips, hands sliding slowly up my sides so his fingers splay over my rib cage and ease to my back. I let him pull me forward, so I stand between his legs at the edge of the bed. Without looking me in the eyes, he places soft, wet kisses against my exposed skin, fingers working to unhook my bra. “We aren’t- aren’t going too-” 

“Shush,” I say, combing my fingers through his hair as he pulls the straps of my bra over my shoulders and slips it off me. I shiver in the chill of his bedroom and the feeling of his hand coming up to cup one of my breasts. 

“I gotta take off my prosthetic,” he whispers into my skin, and I laugh. 

“Okay,” I say through my giggles, stepping around him to climb onto the bed. I sit behind him and wrap my arms over his shoulder, leaning down to watch him press a button on the side near his ankle and hear a distinct click. He slides his leg out of the socket and pushes a sock and then a rubbery sleeve off his leg. He holds both up and looks over his shoulder at me. 

“Sock,” he says, raising the white, cloth lining. “Liner with pin.” He shakes the rubber sleeve, then shoves both in the tube of his prosthetic, which he picks up and sets closer to the head of the bed. I pull on him as he comes back, but he has a pained look on his face and rubs the stump just below his knee. I press a kiss to his neck. 

“You okay?” I ask after a moment. Peeta nods and looks back at me. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He reaches back and wraps an arm around me, pulling me back towards him. I squeal and let him kiss me hard. When he releases me, I stay in his arms and look at him. 

“The beard is definitely something I’ll have to get used to,” I say, bringing up a hand to run my fingers through it. He laughs. 

“I can get rid of it, if you want.” 

“Absolutely not,” I say, feigning offense. He laughs again and climbs onto the bed, patting my side. I slide quickly but awkwardly up to the head of the bed. Peeta lays over me, tucked between my legs. I trail my fingers down his chest. “What does this mean, Peeta?” 

“Do you want to think about that right now?” Peeta asks me, concern on his features. My eyes dart around the room. “We can,” he says, starting to sit up, but I pull him down by his neck and kiss him deeply, my tongue flicking out to trace the seam of his lips. I fight to control the movements of my hips as his hands trail slowly down my sides and onto the waistband of my underwear, which he tugs at gently. We both raise up as one to pull them down; he casts them aside and runs his hands back up my legs. His fingers slip between my legs and I am at once wet and warm from his touch. 

“Fuck,” I whisper, and my hip bucks against his hand, eyelids fluttering at the touch. 

“Katniss,” he moans, and I can feel his erection, hard against my thigh as he ruts gently against me. I push at the band of his briefs and he shoves them off quickly; my nimble fingers find his member, which is hot against my hand. I feel desperate, a sudden electricity within me. 

“Please,” I beg him softly, overtaken by wanton need. I am greedy for him, the memory of his skin slipping through me. 

“What do you need?” he asks, and I look into his blue, blue eyes and can’t speak, just run my hand up and down the length of his cock and whimper, my breath hitching with each swirling motion his fingers make on me. He dips down to kiss me again and pulls away, lining his erection up with my entrance. “I love you,” he whispers as he slips into me. I let my back arch up and grip the pillow with a white-knuckled fist as the simple action shoots pleasure through me. I can only nod, and hope it’s enough for him to understand. We make love slowly, always riding the edge but never quite falling over it. 

#

After, we lay on the bed tangled up with each other, my head on his chest, listening to his heart beating. I haven’t been able to rid myself of the goofy grin that came after the end of our trist, and wonder what he feels. His fingers slid slowly up and down my sweaty back. I sit up, propping my head on my hand and my elbow on the mattress. 

“What does this mean?” I ask again, feeling nervous for his answer. 

“I don’t know,” he replies quietly. “What do you want it to mean?” I shake my head. My long hair fell like a curtain around my head, long since removed from the loose braid it was tied into. 

“I don’t know,” I say, repeating his words. “We could try-” 

“Only if you want to-” 

“I do, do you?” 

“Yes.” Peeta smiles up at me then looks at the clock on his nightstand. It’s after midnight, and his face falls with resignation. “Well, I have to be up in a few hours to open the bakery, and then I have a doctors appointment. Can we get some sleep?” I nod and climb beneath the covers with him. Neither of us bother with clothes. There’s something so simple about the feeling of his skin against mine, and I fall asleep quickly, the warmth of his arms around me soothing. 

#

I register him waking, reaching across me to silence the buzzing of his alarm, and pressing a kiss to my forehead. I reach out for him in the dark and he chuckles quietly. 

“I have to get up now,” he says; I can hear something like a cane hitting the ground and the careful slide of his foot across the carpet. “Keep sleeping. I’ll leave you a key and you can drop it by the bakery later.” I respond sleepily and don’t wake up again until after he’s long since left. There’s a note by the bedside that reads _‘K- didn’t want to wake you. Here’s a key. I’m out of the bakery after eleven for that refit. Text me when you’re up. Maybe we can do lunch after. -P’_ I smile and fold the note up before wandering the room looking for my clothing. I only hope it wasn’t half as hard for Peeta to find his pants this morning as it is for me to find mine. 

Once fully clothed, I go to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. _I spent the night with Peeta._ The thought hits me like a freight train and I feel winded at the realization. Staying with him overnight had not been part of the plan, nor had being intimate. I know I should feel confused, even alarmed, but I feel calm and at peace. I dry my face on the hand towel by the sink and dig the key out of my pocket, getting ready to leave. My purse is where I left it on the couch, and I fear what could possibly face me on my phone. I leave his apartment and lock the door behind me, a spring in my step as I walk to my car. It’s just past nine. 

I close the door to my car and pull out my phone. A text from Prim, Gale, and Annie each, and another from my mother. I look at that one first. **Can we get lunch soon? I want to talk.** I sigh. It had been nearly five years since I’d had a conversation longer than a few words over text with my mother, and I felt annoyed that she wanted to do it now. 

Annie’s was the longest. **I hope you’re not upset with me. I know it wasn’t super fair what I did, but I hope you understand. I wanted to do what I thought was right for both of you. I understand if you’re mad.** It was followed by a few heart emojis. I shook my head. 

**We’ll talk later,** I reply. I wasn’t mad at angry; I wasn’t sure at this point I could even feel anger. But I was frustrated by the circumstances in which she pushed us both together, and questioned what her agenda was. 

Gale: **I hope ur ok.**

Me: **I’m fine. Call me**

Prim’s was short and sweet. **Be safe.** I smiled and tucked my phone away, starting the car. I’d stop by the bakery, then see if Prim was home, and then maybe, just maybe, call my mother and see if she wanted to have dinner tomorrow after work. I pull out of my parking spot and start towards the bakery, feeling a deep sense of peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh this is the first major fanfiction I've finished and I've been writing fanfiction for a ~long~ time. I hope that the next chapter is everything you dreamed of, and I'm sorry if it moved too fast for y'all.   
> Much love, stay safe out there kids! xx -Olive


	9. Home (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I know I just posted a chapter but I genuinely just finished this story and I can't wait to share more with you. I hope you enjoy what I wrote. I'm done! I can't believe it. Please see the end for an important note about my writing! Read on, folks! xx -Olive
> 
> Ps - just wanted to remind you that this story is based on the song “Home” by the band Daughter, so you should go check them out.

#Six and a half years later#

The house smells of baking bread when I enter, holding the door open for James to run through, his little arms stacked full with bananas. I pick up the rest of the plastic grocery bags and shiver as a sharp breeze carries a flurry of snow onto the porch and into the house. Shutting the door quickly behind me, I watch with a smile as James walks quickly to the kitchen. 

“Daddy, daddy,” he says in his high, childish voice, “I got the nananas!” Peeta walks out and crouches down to scoop him up. 

“Those look great, Jamie,” Peeta says, kissing the small, blond boy’s forehead. “Did you mama help you pick them.” 

“Nope,” I say, picking up the bags and groaning. “He picked them out all by himself.” 

“Why don’t you go set those on the kitchen table so I can help mommy with the groceries, then we can get you out of that coat?” Peeta says, setting the child down with another soft kiss. I shake my head. 

“I got it, babe,” I say. “I’d much rather you finish making whatever it is that smells so good so I can eat all of it.” 

“Hungry?” Peeta asks with a laugh. 

“Not just me,” I say as we both walk into the kitchen. I set the groceries down on some free counter space and point to my rotund stomach. “She’s starving too.” 

Peeta leans down to speak to my pregnant belly, poking it gently. “You’re gonna be huge if you don’t stop eating, kiddo,” he says with a laugh. James sheds his coat on the floor and takes off after putting the bananas on the table. 

“James Mellark,” I call after him. The five year old comes back into the room, a sheepish grin on his face. “Is that where your coat goes?” I ask. Peeta stands up and looks around. 

“No, mama,” James replies, running forward to pick it up. He hands it to me and I roll my eyes and take it. 

“Your cousin will be here soon and I want you to be nice to her. Remember, she’s still just a little!” I yell, but know he’s not listening. “That child,” I say. Peeta gives me a deep kiss, surprising me, and shakes his head when he releases me. 

“He’s excited. It’s his last Christmas as an only child.” 

“Well, bully for him,” I say teasingly. 

“Must be nice,” Peeta comments as he moves back to the stove and stirs something. I lean against the counter.

“What?” I ask, leaning my head sideways to look at him. My back was beginning to ache from standing and I felt annoyed by the kicking in my stomach. “I swear to God if I don’t eat something she will burst forth and eat us all.” Peeta let out a raucous laugh and pointed to the bananas before continuing. 

“I never got a solo Christmas, just me and my parents,” Peeta replaced the lid of whatever he was stirring and turns to me as I waddle to the table and sink into a chair. “Not that it really mattered, with my mom being how she was.” 

“Well, we had that Christmas together when I was pregnant with James,” I say, rubbing my stomach. “Right after we got back together, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “You weren’t sick anymore and I made banana bread.”

“And it became our weird, quirky tradition.” The doorbell rings and I try to stand, but groan. 

“I’ve got it,” Peeta says, striding swiftly from the kitchen. His automatic correction for his artificial limb was barely noticeable anymore, and as I listened to him open the door, I felt a swooping feeling of happiness that came only from thinking about being with him. “It’s your sister!” Peeta called from the living room. I lift myself out of the chair and head back into the living room, one hand on my back. 

“James, your aunt is here!” I yell down the hall. He comes running out of his room, skidding to a stop barely a foot from crashing into me. “Carefully, remember?” James nods and we both look at Prim, who carries a shopping bag in one hand, a carseat slung over her other arm. She looked exhausted, but pleased. “Hi,” I say with a smile. Gale comes in behind her, another two shopping bags in his hands and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder.

“You look as pregnant as Annie,” Prim says with a laugh. 

“Yes well, thankfully I don’t already have twins. I don’t know how they do it,” I reply. “Give me my niece, I’m desperate.” I reach grabby hands towards the carrier, and Prim waves me away. 

“Jeez, give me a second here.” She sets her shopping bags down on the couch as I step near her, giving Gale a perfunctory one-armed hug. Peeta shakes his hand and leans to see the baby too. Her round cheeks and wide eyes stare up at us; she looks a lot like Gale already, but I can tell she’ll have the steely blue of Prim’s eyes and softer waves of her hair. “I think she looks like Gale,” she says, as if reading my thoughts. I look at her and nod. 

“She’s still a beautiful baby,” I say. “Just like when I saw her two weeks ago, now gimme.” I cradle the bundle in my arms, listening to the coos and soft noises she emitted as if I’d never heard her before. 

“I wanna see the baby, mama,” James says. Gale reaches down and scoops him up, lifting him high enough to see Rose’s bright eyes. I bounce her gently in my arms then hand her back to Prim. 

“When’s mom gonna be here?” Prim asks, holding her so James can still get a good look. Gale mutters something to James and he laughs.

“Yeah, she does,” he replies. 

“What are you teaching my son?” I ask Gale, reaching out to poke him. He laughs and jumps away, eliciting a strong giggle from James. “She said six, but it might snow so I’m hoping she can still make it.” Peeta gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. 

“I’m gonna finish stuff up in the kitchen and start that banana bread. Lemme know when Annie’s bunch and your mom get here and I’ll start setting the table.” I nod and squeeze his fingers, glaring at Gale, who mutters significantly to James and runs tickling fingers over his stomach before setting him down. James laughs and runs back towards his room. I watch him go then raise my eyebrows at Gale.

“I told him that sometimes when we swaddle Rosie really well, she looks like a worm,” Gale laughs. “And something else.” He gives Prim a glance and then looks back at me.

“What?” My eyes dart between the two of them. 

“We’re getting married,” Prim says finally, a grin sneaking onto her face. “In April.” 

“Oh my god!” I reach out, gripping Prim’s outstretched left hand, on which sits a ring with a few small diamonds inlaid in the silver. “Congratulations!” 

We move to the couch and talk animatedly, though I glance out the window every few seconds to see if anyone else approached in the oncoming darkness. When the doorbell rings again, Gale jumps up to answer it, and two three year olds waddle in holding mittened hands, with an enormously pregnant Annie following in their wake. Finnick brings up the rear, carrying a large paper sack filled with what I could only assume were presents. He strips the twins of their winter gear and sends them running off to James’ room. 

“Did everyone go hog-wild this year for gifts?” I ask with a short laugh. 

“We all decided without telling you that this would double as you and Annie’s baby shower,” Prim said, glancing at Gale and Finnick. They both nodded. 

“Yeah,” Peeta said, popping his head out of the kitchen. “Neither of you have free time outside of this before the babies are born, since neither of you want to stop working.” The doorbell rings again and my heart jumps in my throat. I didn’t see my mother often, even still. Gale stands but I wave him away and rise heavily. I glance at Peeta, who watches me from the door to the kitchen as I cross the living room. My mother, in a heavy parka, stands just outside the door. I open it with a smile on my face. 

“Hi mom,” I say. 

“Hi honey,” she replies, stepping forward as I let her inside. She looks at me with a wide grin. “You’re huge!” I laugh and nod. She looks around and spots Gale and Peeta. “Can you boys help me with something?” She turns back to me. “I have a present for you that can’t wait until later.” Finnick jumps up and claps Peeta on the back. 

“I got this if you want to finish in the kitchen,” Finnick says, and Peeta nods, shooting him a grateful look. 

“I’m gonna start setting the table for supper.” He gives my mother a one armed hug. “It’s good to see you, Emily.” She smiles and glances at Prim. My mother still had the gaunt look of someone in recovery, but had more color in her cheeks than she did when James was born. 

“I’ll be right back, and then I want to see that baby and my grandson,” she says, pointing at me and Prim. We both nod and smile. 

“What do you think she got you?” Prim asks. I shake my head. 

“I don’t know. I asked her to find my old crib before James was born, but she said it got stolen from the storage unit.” I shrug. “Doesn’t seem likely that she sold it.” I settle back on the couch and listen as Peeta rattles around in the kitchen. Annie nudges my toe with hers. 

“Are you excited?” she asks. 

“For the baby?” I reply. “I don’t know if excited is the right word. Elated, terrified, engrossed.” Annie smiled then looked around. I stand again, groaning, and make a mental note not to sit down again until supper. “I’ll get the boys.” The children play animatedly with blocks and James’ stuffed animals. I’d had the foresight to put away the chokable toys before Finn and Jayce got here, and watched them for a short minute before clearing my throat. “Hands washed before dinner, James,” I say to my son, “and you two can come into the living room with me.” I take the twins hands and guide them to the couch their mother sits on as Gale and Finnick back into the house followed by my mother. She has a concerned look on her face when I frown at her; then I look at what the men are carrying. 

Tears form in my eyes as I recognize the crib that both Prim and I spent the first few years of our lives sleeping in. It was one my father had carved and put together, old and weathered but still in good shape. I let a tear slip down my face as I look at my mother. 

“Where did you find it?” I ask. She shakes her head. 

“Remember when you told me not to call you anymore? I moved all my stuff from the shared storage unit to one of my own. I think it was the only thing I was able to remember to pay for regularly… I forgot I’d moved this too. So when you asked for it, I was being truthful when I thought it got stolen, but I was in there looking for this,” she pulls a leather book out of a bag by her feet and opens it: a photo album of our family before my father’s death. “And there it was, staring right at me.” I look at her and shake my head, confused and exhilarated. 

“Mom,” Prim says, standing and moving to our mother, who looks down at Rose and then back up at us, eyes flicking between us, a hopeful look plastered to her face. “This is incredible.” I nod, unable to speak. It felt like all the air in my lungs had escaped, and Gale’s hand on my back brought me back to reality. 

“Peeta!” I call, and he comes hurrying in, concern on his face and a towel in his hands. When he sees all of us gathered around the crib, he smiles. 

“I know,” he says. “She called and told me she found it a few months ago.” He sidles over and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Merry Christmas, darling.” He clears his throat as I look at my mother, who just reaches out a hand. I take it. “Let’s eat, everyone.” 

“James is washing his hands, supposedly,” I murmur to Peeta as people shuffle towards the large dining room. He nods and leaves me standing with my mother. 

“I’m sorry,” I say to her. She shakes her head. 

“Don’t you ever be sorry to me,” she whispers. “I love you very much, Katniss.” I gather her in my arms, the only thing keeping us apart being my protuberant stomach. I nod and flush pink. 

“Let’s go eat,” I say awkwardly. She follows me into the kitchen, where we sit and eat. 

#Two weeks later#

Emily Iris Mellark enters the world early in the morning two weeks after Christmas. I look down at her and back up at my husband, frightened and enamored and so completely in love. Peeta kisses my sweaty forehead and places her gently on my bare chest before he sits in the chair next to me. Everything we’d done had lead to this moment, I know now. And even with the mistakes, I would never change a thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback has been so incredible, but I know that this fic is gonna be missed by some of you. 
> 
> If you loved it and you want to see more Peeta/Katniss action, check out For Crown and Country in my works. That's gonna be my new full-time gig until I leave for my vacation in one week. When that and a couple other things are done, be sure to be on the lookout for more Peeta/Katniss madness. 
> 
> I loved writing this and I loved hearing your concerns and wants. Keep them coming - I would be nothing without my readers. 
> 
> Once again, this story is based on the song “Home” by Daughter, so go thank them for the inspo by givin’ em a listen - they’re music is amazing and you will thank me for it I swear. 
> 
> So, so much love!! xx -Olive

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudo; if you want to see more of this, subscribe.  
> If you want to see more of my work, not just HG, subscribe to me!  
> Thanks for reading. -Olive


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